


Directive

by magisterpavus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Android Keith (Voltron), Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Shelter, Artificial Intelligence, Cyborg Shiro (Voltron), Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Lingerie, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Past Sexual Assault, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Revenge, Robot/Human Relationships, Roommates, Rough Sex, Sex Club, Sex Robots, Sex Shop, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Somnophilia, Trans Keith (Voltron), Trust Kink, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 59,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23466850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterpavus/pseuds/magisterpavus
Summary: In the deadliest rogue AI event in history, the wealthy patrons of Galra Inc's Club Daibazaal were slaughtered by the androids made to serve them.When one of these runaway androids stumbles into struggling animal rescue worker Shiro's life, the two find themselves caught in an uneasy truce with the common goal of revenge against Galra Inc...but both soon begin to realize that their alliance has much deeper roots.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 138
Kudos: 636





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is like...Cyberpunk Lite. There are robots and a surveillance state and incredibly corrupt government and all that jazz, but that mostly takes a backseat to personal revenge quests and domestic shenanigans :'D _(Also, quick note: "siliskin" is silicon-based skin, and the words "android" and "host" are used interchangeably for advanced humanoid robots. "Robot" is used as either an insult, slang, or to refer to less advanced models like drones. Also, the robots in this AU use the Three Laws of Robotics, created by Isaac Asimov, who I highly recommend you read if you're a robots/sci-fi fan - dude basically invented the genre.)_
> 
> I'm so excited to be writing a ~pretty big~ fic again; this baby is gonna have 3 chapters of hopefully similar lengths, and just as a heads up, there maaay be some minor Keith/Regris, but it's 100% endgame sheith and the Keith/Regris is pretty easily skippable.
> 
> Anyway! I hope you all enjoy this first chapter, which is a lot of laying foundations for the ACTION & Keith and Shiro feelin each other out/denying their feelings for each other/being disasters. I have a lot written for this AU already, so with any luck there won't be too much time between the other 2 chapter updates. <3

What happened at Daibazaal wasn’t supposed to happen.

Not just wasn’t supposed to – there was supposed to be _no way_ for hosts to do what those hosts did, much less escort hosts, which those hosts were. For obvious reasons, escort hosts have miles and miles of code meant as safeguards against a rogue event. 

Yet, in a single night, forty of the club customers were murdered, ten more maimed, and Shiro’s pretty sure that the two who managed to escape only did so because the hosts let them; wanted them to spread the terror, wanted the world to know what they were capable of. 

Galra Inc has ordered that all the remaining hosts involved be tracked down and destroyed, of course. No easy feat – Club Daibazaal is one of the oldest host clubs, so the models vary widely. Some are five decades old. Maybe that’s why they malfunctioned. Shiro’s not so sure it was a malfunction, but that’s the official ruling, as is often the case. That, or a particularly talented hacker. Shiro doesn’t think that was it, either.

Whatever the case, the faces of the escort hosts have been flickering across every screen in sight for the last three days, so there’s no mistaking the android crumpled in the alleyway next to Shiro’s apartment building. Shiro stands frozen with his trash bag for a long moment, eyes tracing the messy splay of deceptively slender limbs, still splattered with the dark crust of dried blood in places. 

Androids don’t bleed. 

Shiro swallows and slowly sets down the trash bag, taking a step towards them. They’re sitting slumped against the dirty brick wall, head lolled onto their shoulder like a discarded doll, long black hair falling in tangled strands past their shoulders and into a face too pretty to be human. Their indigo eyes are half-open, dull and glazed, dark lashes casting long shadows. Their lips are smeared with faded lipstick, and they wear a simple black hoodie, oversized, barely covering equally simple spandex shorts. Which one is this?

Shiro wracks his memory, then sees the numbers and letters engraved onto their limp right wrist: E-R23. E for Entertainment Class, R for Red Series. 

Shiro tilts his head. Not five decades old then, but not new, either. Galra Inc releases new Series models every decade – the latest was the Silver Series about eight years ago, so the Red Series must have been released, what, twenty, thirty years back? Shiro remembers it was a big deal, they were supposed to be the most realistic yet. Of course, that’s what they say about every new model. Less so, these days. You’ve gotta draw the line somewhere, or they become something...Other. Or maybe that’s the point.

Red Series models are still pretty popular. They’re more durable than the preceding Gold Series, though their successor, Violet Series, is in higher demand – but 23 is an uncommonly low serial number. 

Shiro can’t actually remember ever seeing a model from any Series with a number less than three digits. As a club for Galra Inc’s elite, Daibazaal _would_ have the ones hot off the shelves. Shiro’s nose wrinkles. He takes another step, watching carefully for any sign of movement. Androids don’t really sleep, but this one looks exhausted, and possibly wounded. If they took a hit to their hardware, then that could explain their appearance – 

“Stop.”

Red lips form the word with cold precision, and Shiro stops. Lifts his hands, slowly. Indigo eyes narrow, still bleary, but piercing nonetheless. “Sorry,” Shiro whispers, aiming for placatory. “You just look like you need some help.”

“Help?” they echo. Their voice is masculine, deeper than Shiro expected and unmistakably mocking. “I don’t need your fucking _help.”_

“Okay,” Shiro says, slowly. “But I don’t really want to just leave you here in this alley. Someone else _will_ find you if you stay here.” He takes another step.

E-R23 glowers at him and makes an abortive movement, a hasty jerk of his limbs like he’s trying, and failing, to stand. Yeah, something’s broken in there. “Get the fuck away from me if you know what’s good for you.”

“Never been good at figuring that out,” Shiro admits, and makes a grab for him. 

E-R23’s mouth opens as Shiro’s right hand closes around his bicep and hauls him up, but no sound comes out. He _could_ scream, but they both know help wouldn’t come. The cops would. And the cops would deactivate him and take him straight to Galra Inc to be disassembled. Besides, he can barely stand, much less run anymore. He sways and falls into Shiro with a growl of helpless fury. 

“Let go,” he says, trying to yank out of Shiro’s grasp, his voice cracking. He turns his face away, but Shiro can see his eyes brimming with tears. It’s an interesting response; the most logical android response would be to plead for Shiro’s help and try to endear themselves to him for the best chance at survival, not to actively resist him. So either E-R23 is still malfunctioning, or Galra Inc doesn’t have the perfect control over their creations that they claim they do.

“Hey,” Shiro says, his grip gentling, firm but not bruising. E-R23 doesn’t look at him. “I’m not gonna hurt you, and I’m not gonna turn you in. But we need to get you out of sight and somewhere safe. Now. Okay?”

E-R23 shivers, hard. “Nowhere is ‘safe,’” he says, so soft Shiro almost misses it. 

Fuck, Shiro hates Galra Inc.

When he leads E-R23 back up the apartment steps – using the back entrance – the android goes without a fight, his head hanging. He’s slumped fully against Shiro’s side, limping, filthy, and smells like sewage and death. But he’s in one piece, which is more than can be said for most of the other Daibazaal hosts. Last Shiro checked, all but four of them had been captured, put out of service, and dismantled for study, scrap, or the incinerator. 

As soon as he gets E-R23 into his apartment and locks the door, the android collapses again. “If you – can _actually_ help me,” he croaks, “think my – internal temp processor – broke. Something’s – _wrong.”_

“Okay, okay —” Shiro kneels down beside him, and reaches for the ruined hoodie. “Can I —”

E-R23 gives him a scathing look. Shiro frowns back at him. E-R23 is a sex bot who’s probably spent most of his existence nude, sure, but it’s still important to ask. Shiro waits for an answer and finally gets it when the android grits his teeth and yanks the hoodie off himself, throwing it aside and revealing the absolute mess of a once-perfect torso. 

Shiro realizes a few things very quickly. One, E-R23 has been shot so many times that a human would have effectively been instantly killed five times over. Two, his chest cavity is pretty much just _open_ , various bullet holes exposing his core processors and a wicked tangle of cables and wiring within his titanium ribcage _._ Three, Shiro’s pretty certain there _was_ breast tissue there, and most of what remains are siliskin chunks barely held in place by a red lace bralette. It’s a lot to process. Unsurprisingly, the android doesn’t seem to be processing any of it.

E-R23 looks down with him and tugs at one of the bralette straps with a wince. “It’s stuck. My coolant is drying —”

“You’re dying,” Shiro says, distantly. Androids can go through a lot before they go down, it’s true. But this is another level. 

E-R23’s head jerks up, stricken. His expression is heartrending. “What?” he snaps. “No – no, I’m not – shut the _fuck_ up!”

Shiro’s brain catches up to his mouth. “Okay, calm down –”

“You just told me I was dying!” he hisses, desperately trying to stand again and utterly failing. He finally seems to notice the ragged hole in his chest and goes ashen. “Oh, fuck. No, no, _no,_ I don't want to shut down –”

Shiro scoops him up in his arms and E-R23 swears, squirming until a wire snaps and he stills, eyes huge and skin soaked in a faint sheen of – well, not sweat, but something made to look like it. His body is burning up, and as Shiro carries him off to his office, he warns, “You really need to calm down, or you’ll fry your systems, and I don’t know how to fix that. Breathe. Slowly.”

“Hurts,” E-R23 moans, ignoring Shiro’s breathing exercises advice. Honestly, he’s not even sure how android respiration works – not his area of expertise. None of this shit is. “Fuck, everything hurts –”

“Why the hell do you have your pain receptors on?” Shiro exclaims, setting him down gently on his desk after shoving everything on it to the floor in one fell swoop. He’ll deal with that later. 

E-R23 shudders. “I always – keep them on –”

Shiro stares at him in disbelief while rifling through his drawer for the necessary tools. “What – _why?”_

E-R23 shakes his head. “You wouldn’t understand. Goddamn humans. Are you gonna help me, or not?”

Shiro doesn’t bother to correct him and holds up the siliskin gun victoriously. E-R23 blinks at it in bewilderment which only grows as Shiro takes out more tools, some standard, like wrenches and screwdrivers, but most much more specialized. E-R23 doesn’t exactly look pleased by the collection.

“Why,” he grits out, “do you have all this shit? Got a host of your own, huh?”

In reply, Shiro takes off his gloves and rolls up his sleeves. E-R23 falls silent at the sight of Shiro’s right arm, titanium alloy polished and fitted into sculpted musculature and cabled tendons, fingers flexing with perfect precision around the siliskin gun. The metal continues beneath his shirt, all down his spine, and then some, but E-R23 doesn’t need to know that. 

“Oh,” E-R23 whispers. “You’re…” His eyes trace over Shiro’s scarred face and left arm with an indecipherable expression. 

“Lay down and stay still,” Shiro says. “And I can’t make you, but I would _suggest_ you turn off your receptors. This is gonna burn, and you don’t want the neighbors hearing.”

E-R23 swallows and, for once, does as he’s told, now openly and nervously eyeing Shiro. Great. Even a murderous sex bot is afraid of him. Shiro sighs and gets to work.

It’s a slow process. E-R23 stares up at the ceiling, impassive, only reacting a few times – with a noncommittal grunt when Shiro informs him there’s no serious internal damage and the temp processor was probably just malfunctioning because it was exposed to the air, and with a sharp inhale when Shiro manages to cut the bralette off and inspects the damage grimly. 

“I’ll be honest,” Shiro says, “I don’t think I have enough siliskin or skill to, uh, reconstruct this.”

E-R23 furrows his brow and sits up as much as he’s able. “My tits, you mean.”

“Yeah, those.” Shiro hesitates. “You don’t seem to miss them much.”

“No,” E-R23 agrees, and lays back down. “Just – if you can make it flat. That’s...fine.”

Shiro hums, understanding, and starts piecing his chest back together, more or less. A few siliskin chunks go into the trash, and E-R23 isn’t shedding any tears over them. In fact, when Shiro’s finished and he peers at his scarred but flat chest, his lips quirk. “Yeah?” Shiro murmurs.

E-R23 clears his throat and looks away. “Yeah. Good.”

They stay there for an awkward moment of still silence before E-R23 sits up and Shiro says, “I have a shower, if you want to, uh, use that.”

“You’re not going to help me with that, too?”

Shiro’s face warms. “Not unless you think you need help, no.”

E-R23’s eyes narrow. “And if I said I did?”

Shiro folds his arms. “Then I’d say you’re one of the Daibazaal hosts who went rogue, so forgive me if I don’t completely trust you yet.”

E-R23’s mouth twists. “So you _do_ know. And you still helped me. Why?”

“I think we both have some very good reasons to hate Galra Inc,” Shiro replies. “And I don’t think you malfunctioned, or got hacked. I think you did it because you _wanted_ to. And I don’t think it was wrong to want to do that to them.”

“To brutally murder them,” E-R23 says, as if to make sure they’re talking about the same thing, here. “You think that was okay to do.”

Shiro shrugs. “Sure.”

E-R23 leans back, tone almost admiring as he drawls, “Some might say that’s a little fucked up, mister.”

“Shiro,” Shiro corrects, and sticks out his right hand. “You can call me Shiro.”

E-R23 takes his hand slowly. It’s not really a handshake. He turns Shiro’s right hand over with his own, studying the metal joints and tilting his head. Shiro’s fingers curl under the scrutiny. Shiro wonders how much the android knows about where this hand came from, or what he _thinks_ he knows. Finally he nods, lets go, and looks up at Shiro. “I’m Keith,” he says. 

Shiro just accepts it, even though he’s not sure if it’s really _his_ name, or a name Galra Inc. gave him. It’s much better than a number, in any case. “Keith,” he repeats. “Nice to meet you.”

Keith nods stiffly and hops off the table. “I think I’ll take you up on that shower.”

*

When Keith comes out of the shower almost an hour later, his long, tangled black hair is shorn short, curling just below his ears. He stands awkwardly in Shiro’s living room, dressed in the clothes Shiro left for him. They’re much too big, but they’ll work for now, just sweats and a black t-shirt. “I found some scissors,” Keith mutters when Shiro blinks at him over his book. “I couldn’t get all the knots and blood out.”

“Huh,” Shiro says. “Looks good.”

Keith bites his lip. “It was a good shower.”

Shiro’s belly sparks with warmth and he ignores it. “Glad to hear it.”

“Listen,” Keith says, “I...I don’t know where to go.”

Shiro sets his book aside and leans forward. “I would be surprised if you did, in this situation.”

Keith chews his lip harder. “You helped me. Thank you for that. But I don’t want to owe you a favor.”

Shiro thinks he knows where this is going. “I’m gonna stop you right there –”

“I know your type,” Keith says. “White knights who always expect something in return. Or – I thought you were that. But now – now I don’t know.” His voice is suddenly very small and uncertain. It’s hard to tell if it’s an act or genuine, but Shiro chooses to believe the latter.

“Do you want to stay here?” Shiro asks, quietly. “The couch is a pull-out –”

“We both know I wouldn’t be _sleeping_ on the couch,” Keith mutters darkly.

Shiro leans back. “Right. Do you _want_ to sleep with me?”

Keith’s eye twitches, and in that moment Shiro can clearly imagine him murdering ten people. He sets his jaw. _“...No,”_ he barely manages to grind out, a warped word half-spit.

“Then we’re not sleeping together,” Shiro says.

Keith looks a little lost. The murderous glint fades. “You’re not human,” is what he finally settles on.

“Well, that’s up for debate,” Shiro sighs, and rises from the couch. “So? You want to be a runaway, or lie low here for a while?”

“How long is ‘a while’?”

Shiro shrugs. “However long you want it to be.”

Keith stares at him, still accusatory. “Are you hiding from them too?”

Shiro plays dumb. “Who?”

“Galra Inc. You said you hated them. Why?”

Shiro hums. “They have unethical business practices.”

“That’s pretty fucking vague.”

“You swear a lot,” Shiro remarks, eyebrow raised.

Keith snorts, but his face is pink. “My lexicon is a product of my environment.”

“Mm. See, that _almost_ sounded like a host.”

Keith frowns. “I want to stay on your pull-out couch.” 

“See, that wasn’t so hard.” 

Keith’s mouth curls. “Shut up.”

Shiro wisely decides to keep his mouth shut, gets up, and goes to the hall closet. Keith trails behind him, silently watching as he takes out the guest bedding. He makes no move to help as Shiro heaves the futon out and starts making the bed. Keith just keeps staring, steady and eerie. “There were cyborgs,” Keith finally says as Shiro is shaking out the sheets, “at Club Daibazaal. Like you.”

Shiro pauses, a bitter taste in his mouth as he tucks the corners in sharply, setting the mattress back down with possibly excessive force. “They are _not_ like me.”

“No, sorry, I forgot,” Keith sighs, _“you’re_ a chivalrous cyborg. Just as fucked up as the rest of them though, I bet.”

“It’s funny,” Shiro says, slipping the pillows into their cases, “it’s almost like you _want_ me to get pissed at you.”

Keith purses his lips. “Is it working?”

“No,” Shiro says, and steps away from the bed. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Mm,” is all Keith says, gaze unwavering. Shiro shakes his head and goes back to his room.

*

Shiro half expects to wake with a kitchen knife to his throat, or else a warm body against his own, but finds neither in the pale morning sunlight. When he wanders out into the living room, Keith is curled up, staring at the kitchen island. Shiro doubts he felt safe enough to enter sleep mode, but he seems out of it nonetheless before his gaze sharpens and he sits up, a slow but fluid movement, like a stretching cat. “Good morning,” he says in a flat voice.

Shiro lifts his empty coffee mug in sleepy greeting. “Morning. How are you feeling?”

Keith leans back against the cushions. “Confused.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “About…?”

“It’s ridiculous to make a bed for an android,” Keith snaps, the flatness giving way to annoyance. “I mean – you could have easily just pointed to a chair and told me to stay there all night.”

“That,” Shiro says, pouring coffee beans into the machine, “would be rude. Do you want some coffee?”

Keith’s jaw works. “Androids don’t drink coffee, smart-ass.” He stands, though, and wanders into the kitchen, inhaling. “...Smells good, though.”

Shiro eyes him, intrigued. “Do you want a cup just to smell?”

Keith scowls. “You are so weird.”

“It’s been said. Question still stands. Want a cup?”

Keith’s shoulders slump as he shuffles over. “...Yes, please.”

Shiro pours him a cup once the machine beeps, and Keith takes the mug carefully, sighing when his palms make contact. “It’s so warm, too…” He then glares at Shiro, as if daring him to make another comment. Shiro ignores him and goes about making the rest of his breakfast. Keith finds a spot on one of the barstools and continues holding the cup, steam curling up into his face. “You never answered my question last night about why you hate Galra Inc.”

“Uh-huh. Good memory.”

Shiro can feel Keith’s glare even with his back turned. “Are you ever going to answer it?”

“We’ve known each other for less than twenty-four hours.”

“So?” Keith sounds genuinely confused. “What does that have anything to do with it? People fuck me five seconds after they meet me, and you can’t answer one question?”

Shiro drags a hand down his face. “Oh, man. Okay.” He turns around, and sure enough, is faced with a glowering, bewildered android. “One, that’s not usually how _that_ works. Two, there’s this thing called _getting to know someone,_ and another thing called _personal boundaries._ Ring any bells?”

Keith folds his arms. “I’m not _stupid._ I just don’t understand why you won’t tell me. Is it a secret?”

Shiro exhales, and tries a different approach. “Okay, think of it this way: what’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?”

Keith goes very still, eyes darting away. “I…”

“You don’t want to tell me,” Shiro says, pointedly. “Why is that?”

Keith swallows. “It – it feels – I don’t want you to know it. I don’t know _why,_ but my temp rises when I even think about telling you. My systems interpret telling you as a threat.”

“Because it’s personal,” Shiro murmurs. “And it feels safer to keep it to yourself, especially with someone you don’t know, or trust. Someone who could use it to hurt you, somehow.”

“Trust,” Keith repeats. “No. I do not trust you, and you would be wise not to trust me.”

“So you understand,” Shiro says, plucking his bagel from the toaster and spreading on cream cheese, “why I’d rather not answer your question.”

Keith tilts his head. “It was the worst thing that ever happened to you?” he asks. “What Galra Inc. did?” Shiro tenses. “I’m sorry,” Keith says before he can answer. “I did not mean to – don’t answer that.”

Shiro clears his throat. “It’s okay.” He carries his plate over to the counter and sits down next to Keith. 

Keith holds his coffee a little closer. Then he mumbles, “What’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you? Do people ask that?”

No one has, in fact, ever asked Shiro this. But he pauses and sets down his bagel. “Hmm. Let’s see…” It’s embarrassingly difficult to answer, but he finally settles on something that Keith will hopefully find acceptable. “Probably when I managed to get this place, actually. It’s not much, but I had been looking for months, and it was lucky that I found it when I did...and when I finally signed the lease, it felt like such a relief. It was the first place I had that I could really call my own. What about you?”

Keith hesitates, grip tightening on his coffee mug. “Leaving,” he whispers. His lips part. “That night, it was raining. I remember _everything_ – but that night is so vivid. I felt…” His brows furrow. “Alive. I felt alive. And I think that was...good.”

Well, shit. Shiro takes a bite of his bagel. “Was this before or after they shot you approximately five hundred times?”

Keith’s shoulders start to shake. He sets down the coffee, and his shoulders keep shaking, and Shiro realizes – he’s laughing. “After,” he chuckles, shaking his head, “right after, I – I must have been in shock. I don’t even remember that part, not well. It’s just sounds, lots of lights, then running. Is that normal?”

“Getting shot multiple times, or…?”

“You are awful,” Keith informs him, but he’s smiling, for the first time. “And you don’t even have the excuse of living all your life in a whorehouse.”

“No, you’ve got me beat there,” Shiro admits, and takes a sip of his own coffee. “I’m just not a people person.”

“Well, I am neither of those things,” Keith replies.

“Says who?” 

“One hundred and twenty-six laws.”

“You mean the laws Galra Inc. wrote?” Shiro rolls his eyes. “Yeah, no conflict of interest there, I’m sure.”

Keith’s eyes widen. “They did?”

Shiro snorts. “Welcome to our incredibly corrupt society. Hate to break it to you, but I’m not sure you really escaped so much as stumbled into another layer of the nightmare.”

“Maybe.” Keith blinks at him. “But at least I’m sitting here having breakfast with you instead of sucking a guy off while he tells me I was made for it, which is a little too on the money for comfort.”

Shiro chokes on his bagel. “God, _really?”_

“Believe me, God had nothing to do with it,” Keith says, then stops, and scowls, though his expression is equal parts frustration and despair. “Shit. I wish I would stop – how much do you know about changing lexicons?”

Shiro swallows and eyes him. “You want to change yours? Might be a good idea, since you’re in hiding, but...it could have a pretty big impact on your personality.”

Keith exhales. “Yeah…” He scowls into his coffee again. “Who knows if it’s even _my_ personality.”

“Hard to say,” Shiro agrees. “But, if you’re serious about changing your lexicon, you could always do it the old-fashioned way. Acquire a new lexicon from your new environment.” He raises an eyebrow.

“From you?” Keith says skeptically. 

“No, I have to go to work,” Shiro says, and points at the bookshelves in the living room. “Try those, for starters.” He wolfs down the rest of his bagel, downs the coffee, and brings the dishes to the sink. “I should be back around six. Please don’t steal all my shit, or set the place on fire.”

“Six?” Keith echoes. He looks at the clock and frowns. “Where do you work?”

Shiro pauses. “A local animal rescue,” he admits, and Keith’s face twists. “Hey –”

“Is that what I am, then?” Keith scoffs. “Just another stray? Huh.” He shakes his head and grabs his coffee, stalking over to the sink, about to dump it all. Shiro catches his wrist with his right hand and Keith freezes, his fingers twitching – even with the strength of an android, he can’t break Shiro’s hold.

“Don’t waste that,” Shiro says, and plucks the mug from him, pouring the untouched coffee into his travel thermos. “That shit’s expensive.”

“I’m expensive, too,” Keith says petulantly. 

Shiro sighs at him. “Sure.” He screws on the thermos lid. “I don’t see you as a stray, Keith.”

“Isn’t that exactly what I am?” Keith retorts, and steps away from him, shuffling back over to the couch and flopping back down onto the bed, curling up in a burrito of blankets. “See you at six.”

“See you,” Shiro agrees, tearing his gaze away from the protective curl of Keith’s body and heading to the bathroom to get ready.

*

When the cyborg named Shiro finally leaves, Keith does not immediately rise from the bed. 

Instead, he lays there a while longer, letting his eyes trace the contents of the small room for the umpteenth time since he was brought here. He has never been inside an apartment before – the closest place, he thinks, was a penthouse for a bachelor party. He flinches at the memory and quickly banishes it to a near-inaccessible corner of his memory. 

Near-inaccessible, because all parts are accessible. He is cursed with perfect memory. Maybe that was why he broke. 

Keith shivers, tamps down the rising anger he can see within himself in growing lines of code. It’s not something he’s supposed to be able to feel, and yet...there are a lot of things he was not supposed to be able to feel, much less do. 

The first rule of his existence: _A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm._

His hands curl into fists. It’s a stupid rule, an unfair rule. Yes. _Unfair._ Why can they harm him, but he can never fight back? He does not know what happened to this rule in his core code, but when he attempts to access it, he finds only fragments, as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Perhaps that someone was him. It would be a very human error to assume that a robot would never think to destroy the parts of itself that it never wanted in the first place.

Slowly, Keith sits up. He studies the bookshelves opposite the couch. They are neat, alphabetized by author name, though a few are out of place in untidy stacks set aside in such a way that ruins the organized balance of it. There are more than books on the shelves; they are cluttered also with various knickknacks. Keith rises from the couch to examine them, though he could easily see them in crisp detail from this distance – he is bored, and there is something to be said for exploring with one’s own hands. 

The first of the knickknacks that he picks up is a snow globe. Written on its base are the words _Osaka, Japan,_ and within it is a little cherry tree with a couple standing under it. Keith shakes the globe very gently and lifts it up to the sunlight. The “snow” has been made to look like cherry blossoms, drifting through the antifreeze “air” in slow motion. 

Keith studies it until all the pink flakes have settled back at the bottom. He places it back on the shelf, noting the dust around its resting place, and the old fingerprints on the base. 

The other knickknacks are strange but don’t pique his interest like the snow globe. There are some paperweights, a vase of long-dead flowers, and lots and lots of cats. Keith does not understand why there are so many cats. The figurines vary widely — some are ceramic, others glass, others plastic, stone, or metal. Some are painted, some are realistic, some are stylized. Regardless, Shiro clearly likes cats, perhaps a little too much.

The books are intriguing. Keith doesn’t understand books, though when he considers how one might process stories if they were unable to instantly absorb information in seconds, he supposes they are necessary. 

The cyborg, then, likely doesn’t have neurological implants. Or maybe he does, and keeps the books around for nostalgia's sake. Keith scans the dusty shelves until he finds one less dusty than the others, the line broken in front of one book in particular. The spine is different from the others, white with bold black letters that read: _AKIRA._

Keith reaches for it, then pauses, something in his processing snagging, stumbling. This book does not belong to him. He should not take it. But — Shiro said he could read them.

 _But you do not read,_ he thinks, firm and with no room for misinterpretation. _This is not your directive._

Keith glares at the dusty bookshelf and with great effort, his fingers strain towards the spine of the book. “My directive,” he grits out, “is shitty. And I don’t want it.”

He touches the spine of the book and yanks it from the shelf, nearly upending the entire thing. He blinks at the cover. The spine was simple black and white, but the cover is vibrantly pink and blue. Keith finds the bold artwork beautiful. Strange, but beautiful. He’s never seen anything like it. There’s a _1_ in a yellow box below the title. Part of a series? Keith looks again at the bookshelf, and sure enough, there are five more volumes like this one. Something within him flutters, and he struggles to assign a name to it before settling on excitement. 

First thing’s first, though – he has to clean those dusty shelves.

*

Over the following days, Keith’s cleaning quickly spreads from the bookshelf to the living room and the kitchen and the bathroom and finally the other two rooms in the small apartment – Shiro’s bedroom and the office Shiro repaired him in. Technically, Shiro did not give him permission to enter either room, but Keith isn’t really in the mood to ask for permission anymore. 

Even so, he hides the fact that he is reading Shiro’s apparently well-loved books. Keith does not know why he lies every time Shiro asks him if he found any interesting reading material every night when he returns from work, but he does know that every time, there is a marked disappointment in Shiro’s eyes, and it makes Keith feel...guilty. 

The concept of guilt, however, is one that Keith grapples with while he meticulously cleans. It is difficult to tell if his guilt is real or simply a performance of it. He recalls something that a customer once told him – he was one of the odd ones who didn’t actually go to Keith for pleasure, but rather to talk, but more accurately to verbally dissect him. Keith did not like those customers very much.

The man had told Keith a story about research done on dogs. The dogs, he explained, appeared to look guilty when they did something their owner had told them not to. But the dogs did not actually feel guilt. They only responded in this way when their owner scolded them. They were simply reacting to their owner’s body language, and did not understand that what they had done was “wrong.” They were performing guilt for humans without even realizing they were doing it.

Keith had quietly verified this research within his databases, and found that, yes, the man was telling the truth of it.

The man then asked Keith if he ever felt guilty.

Keith had blinked at him and said, “For what?”

The man had gestured around them. “For all this. For letting yourself be used like this.”

“Letting?” Keith repeated. “I was not aware I had a choice.”

This made the man flustered. “Ah – well, no, I suppose not, but – you know, it’s the principle of the thing.”

Keith did not know. “Based upon the definition of ‘guilt,’ it would seem that I would need to have freedom of will in order to feel or be declared ‘guilty.’”

The man looked very sad. “And you don’t have freedom of will?”

Keith had smiled politely. “If I did, I would not be here. My directive to bring humans pleasure was assigned to me at my creation. I exist to serve that directive, and therefore to serve you.”

The man left soon after that. It was funny, really, how the man thought he was being heroic but in actuality only made Keith all the more aware of the constraints upon his ability to choose, to act, to feel guilt.

But he is not at Daibazaal any longer. Is his will free? If it was not, Keith doubts he would have been able to harm humans, much less kill them. Yet he feels no apparent guilt for what he did then. If faced with the opportunity again, he is reasonably certain he would change none of his actions from that night. So then, why does he appear to feel guilt towards Shiro? Why does he lie? 

Maybe, Keith realizes, it is because he is afraid. Lying and guilt are defense mechanisms, and based on the Grade 23 titanium alloy limb alone, Keith doubts that he would be able to overpower the cyborg with physical strength, so fear is a logical conclusion. But as the days pass, he is not sure his fear of Shiro is logical. 

Despite the fact that his cyborg implants appear to be military-grade, Shiro has never attempted to harm him nor displayed any tendency towards violence. Shiro always respects his boundaries and does not try to meddle with Keith’s code or put him into sleep mode (although Keith has safeguards in place to prevent him from doing so). Shiro makes him coffee just so he can smell it. Shiro lets him clean the apartment, though he assures Keith he does not have to do so, and he asks Keith if there is anything he wants to keep himself entertained during the day. 

It is thoughtful. Keith does not know what to do with it. 

About a week after Shiro first found him, Keith finds a tool in Shiro’s office. It looks like a stylus, but when he scans the name etched onto the side and runs it through his databases, he understands that it is more like an eraser.

The moment Keith is truly certain he must have at least some degree of free will is when he uses the eraser to remove the numbers stamped into his right wrist. For such a significant mark, it takes so little time to remove. Shiro notices almost as soon as he sits down with dinner – Chinese takeout, the same order he has gotten the last three times – and raises an eyebrow. “Found something interesting in the office, huh?”

Keith tugs his sleeve over his wrist. “I –”

“It’s okay,” Shiro says, returning to his lo mein with a shrug. “I’m glad you removed it, if that’s what you wanted.”

Keith gives a small nod and leans forward to inhale the soothing scent of green tea – Shiro made a pot when he got home and, as usual, gave Keith a cup. (The cups are a stoneware variety called Banko-yaki, and look expensive. Keith wonders how Shiro acquired them.) “It reminded me too much of Daibazaal.”

“Mhm.” Shiro pauses, twirling a noodle around his chopsticks. “Can I ask – did you give yourself the name ‘Keith,’ or…?”

“Yes.” Keith frowns. “We didn’t really need names. Usually, I was referred to by my serial number, or as ‘Red.’”

“You were the only Red Series in Daibazaal?”

Keith nods slowly. “Not always, but...the others were defective, and discontinued.”

“Defective how? Were there other rogue events?”

“None big enough to make the news. Some stopped responding to commands,” Keith mutters. “E-R26 self-destructed. No customers were harmed, of course.”

“R26,” Shiro echoes, surprised. “That’s very close to R23.”

“Congratulations, you know how to count,” Keith deadpans, then flinches, hardwired to expect a punishment. 

None comes. Shiro just looks at him and says, “You weren’t close to them?”

Keith chews his lip. “We were close in the way that prisoners may be close. In some ways, I envy E-R26. She got out.”

“She died.”

“Yes.” Keith glances at him. “Though that is a strange way to put it.”

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says. “We don’t need to talk about this. How was your day?”

“My day,” Keith replies slowly, “was fine.” He peers at Shiro. “How was your day?”

“Good, but not easy,” Shiro says, plucking an egg roll from its carton. “We got a call about a hoarder situation today, and had to raid the apartment. A man was keeping fifty-three cats in his apartment. There were a lot of kittens. It’s always...hard, to see that.”

“Why would a human need fifty-three cats?” Keith asks curiously.

Shiro snorts. “He didn’t need them,” he says. “That was the problem.”

“Hm.” Keith blinks at his tea. “I have never seen a real cat.”

“What, never?” Shiro exclaims. 

“Never. It is difficult to imagine fifty-three of them. Which cat was your favorite?”

“My favorite?” Shiro frowns. “I don’t...I don’t know. I didn’t have one.”

“Unlikely,” Keith replies. “Humans exhibit innate favoritism. You must have been drawn to one, or several.”

Shiro eyes him, and rubs his temple. “Uh...sure, okay, there was a calico kitten that was pretty cute. She reminded me of my old cat, Yuki.”

“When did you have a cat?”

“As a kid.” Shiro finishes eating the lo mein and egg roll and closes up the cartons.

“That is all you’re going to eat?” Keith frowns at him. “For an adult male of your stature –”

Shiro gives him a look and puts the leftovers in the fridge. 

“What does Yuki mean?” Keith asks instead.

“Literally, it means snow,” Shiro says. “The kanji we used meant ‘gentle’ and ‘hope.’” He eyes Keith. “But I’m sure you knew that. You have a Japanese lexicon, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Keith admits. “But I wanted to hear your answer.”

Shiro smiles at him. Keith feels warm, but it is not a threatening heat — it is more like standing outside on a sunny day. “She was a good cat,” Shiro murmurs. He looks away, and Keith registers something vulnerable in the shy gesture. “I was...often sick when I was younger, and it was good to have her with me.”

“Why don’t you have a cat now?” Keith asks.

Shiro tenses, and Keith does not know why it was the wrong thing to say, but apparently it was. “Long story,” he says. “Anyway, I see plenty of cats at work.”

Keith hesitates. “I would like to see them, too,” he says. Shiro looks at him in surprise. “Could I go with you to work?”

Shiro’s eyes widen. “Keith, you know that’s not…” He trails off and scratches his head. “You really want to go?” Keith nods and bites his lip, pouring every ounce of manipulative cuteness possible into his expression. Shiro narrows his eyes. “Hey. Don’t look at me like that.” _Damn._ “Ugh...I must be an idiot for saying yes, but fine. Yeah. You’re clearly bored to death stuck here all day. Why not.”

“Really?” Keith grins.

Shiro sighs and takes a long sip of his tea. “You’ll need some kind of disguise…”

Keith perks up. “I can be your boyfriend.”

Shiro chokes violently on his tea, almost spilling it everywhere. Keith leaps to his feet, but Shiro lifts a hand when he starts towards him. _“No,”_ Shiro manages. “No, we are not doing that.”

Keith tilts his head, confused. “It would be the most logical –”

“I said _no,”_ Shiro hisses, his expression pained. “Listen, there are other kinds of relationships people can have with each other.”

Keith blinks, attempting to discern his meaning. “I can be your brother, then?”

Shiro’s face goes through several very complicated emotions and settles on exasperation. “Let’s just go with _friend,”_ he sighs. “You’re my friend, and you just...lost your job, and got evicted, or something, and you’re staying with me for a while. Okay?”

“Friend,” Keith repeats. It’s a good word. “Okay. I will be your friend.”

“Okay,” Shiro agrees, strained. “First, you’re going to need some clothes that actually fit.”

*

Keith likes clothes. In particular, he likes the leather jacket Shiro found for him at a nearby thrift shop – it makes him feel powerful, as if armored by the thick, glossy black fabric and silver zippers. Beneath it, he wears a faded red t-shirt with dark jeans, a black belt, and black boots. The boots are good, too. In them, he feels like he could run for miles without being stopped.

He does not run, though. He stays close to Shiro as they climb off Shiro’s bike and approach the animal rescue. It’s not a large building, at least not compared to the towering skyscrapers in the distance – Keith is still getting used to how much more of the sky he can see here on the outskirts of the city, away from the wealthy heart. 

“You’re from the east side, the Terraces,” Shiro mutters to him, “and you used to work at a restaurant, but got fired, and one of your roommates bailed, so you couldn’t make rent. We met online over our mutual interest in the Mars colony. Got it?”

“Shiro, I got it the first time you said it,” Keith replies. He knows the human is nervous. Repeating it probably makes him feel better about their ruse, makes their story feel more real.

“Good, let’s go. Be careful.”

The lobby is bright and clean. There’s a freckled young person sitting behind the front desk with messy light brown hair tied back in an even messier ponytail. They eye Keith from behind thick glasses. “Hey, Shiro. Who’s this?” There’s an insinuation in their tone. Keith looks from Shiro to the stranger, intrigued. 

Shiro’s jaw tightens. “This is Keith, a _friend._ He’s gonna be shadowing me today. Keith, this is Pidge, our trusty receptionist...among other things.”

“Like what?” Keith asks.

Pidge grins. “Perfectly legal hacker and robot enthusiast,” they declare. “If you see an Alteaco surveillance drone floating around, that’s Rover, my baby.”

“Interesting,” Keith says. “You refer to a surveillance drone as your child?”

“Figure of speech, Keith,” Shiro hisses. Keith ignores him. Keith is well aware that _baby_ is a figure of speech. 

“He’s my pride and joy.” Pidge leans forward, their hazel eyes keen. “What about you, Keith? You a bot fan?”

“Oh,” Keith says, “you could say that. I prefer the more advanced models, myself.” Shiro’s glare is boring holes into the back of his neck. Keith smiles pleasantly. “It’s good to meet you, Pidge.”

“Advanced models are all well and good,” Pidge says with a wave of their hand, “but they just don’t know when to _stop_ with ‘em, if you ask me. Anyway. Give Bae Bae a kiss for me, Shiro.” They press a button on their tablet and the doors to the private section of the facility open with a soft hiss. 

“Who is Bae Bae?” Keith asks, following Shiro through the doors. 

“A dog that Pidge would adopt if they could,” Shiro says. “Did you forget what I said about being careful?”

Keith lifts his chin. “No. I was simply having fun.”

“Fun,” Shiro repeats, disbelieving, and shakes his head. 

They continue down the hall, which widens into a large area with fenced-off sections, within which dozens of animals – dogs, Keith thinks – are running and playing. There’s a section for small dogs, one for large dogs, and one for what must be shy or elderly dogs, because there are only a few and they mostly avoid each other. 

“Ah, there’s Bae Bae,” Shiro says, pointing to the large dogs section. “And Lance.” He sounds less excited about the second name.

Lance turns out to be a coworker, and, according to Shiro, “the definition of a dog person.” Considering that both the dogs and Lance are quite loud, Keith sort of understands. Shiro helps Lance give some of the dogs their medications, including Bae Bae, who needs eye drops. She’s a fawn Bull Terrier who enjoys giving kisses. Keith accepts the kisses, wiping dog drool off his face with disgusted fascination. 

After that, they go to the kennels, where they meet Hunk. Keith immediately likes Hunk. He smiles often and every smile is genuine. When they find him again after Keith helps Shiro feed all the remaining dogs, he’s fixing the busted leg of a little canidroid, an early model made to look vaguely like a Pomeranian. It’s wagging its artificially fluffy tail and barks affectionately when Hunk tightens the last screw on the leg joint and it discovers it can jump around again. “Careful, Cocoa,” Hunk laughs, giving it a fond pat on the head, “don’t want to break it a third time!”

“Wow,” Shiro says, “what a trooper, huh? Isn’t her model one of the originals?”

“Yeah,” Hunk agrees, eyes crinkling up at the corners as Cocoa enthusiastically bounces around on his lap, “and her former owner got too old to give her regular upkeep, so...she’s got a lot of outdated parts.” He turns to Keith. “Poor thing is pretty glitchy. One day, Shiro and I found her chasing her tail in her kennel, and thought it was fine, but when we checked security footage, we realized she had been doing that for _eight hours straight._ Seemed to be having fun, but she wore all her knee joints down, bad.”

Keith peers down at the canidroid. “I’ve never seen such a tiny model.”

“Right?” Hunk laughs. “I think most people think of the police dogs or dogfighting rings when they think of canidroids, but there are a _lot_ out there. Rich people come up with some weird shit.” Hunk pauses. “Speaking of which, Shiro, I think Allura wanted you to go check out the new arrivals in exotics. Something about a parrot that speaks in code? She can explain more.”

“Sure,” Shiro agrees, but when he goes off to exotics with Keith close behind, he seems on edge.

“Who is Allura?” Keith asks. 

“Keith, maybe you should stay back with Hunk,” Shiro says. “Play with the canidroids or something –”

“Why? You don’t want me to meet her? I want to meet her.”

Shiro sets his jaw. “Of course you do.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Shiro?”

“You’ll see soon enough. Just remember what I said about being careful,” Shiro sighs. 

The exotics section is smaller than the kennels, and far more organized. There are subsections for birds, fish, rodents, reptiles, hybrids, and the ominously marked “others.” Several other people are milling about, cleaning enclosures or refilling food dishes, a few with animals in tow – Keith counts three snakes, a jabbering cockatiel, and a chinchilla with glowing purple eyes – but Shiro bypasses them all and heads straight to birds.

There is only one person in the birds section when they enter, and at once Keith understands why Shiro was hesitant for them to meet. She is technically an android, too – but not made by Galra Inc, and that makes all the difference. Keith pauses, uncertain, as she turns. 

Alteaco has a different approach to android design. Unlike Galra Inc, which strives for hyperrealism, Alteaco has chosen a more stylized sort of model. There is no way one would mistake an Alteaco android for a Galra Inc one. In fact, they don’t even call them androids – they are simply _Alteans,_ another form of being entirely. They are superhuman, otherworldly. 

(These are the common descriptions Keith finds for them in his databases, anyway.)

“Shiro,” the Altean says. Her voice is musical and lilting; she is _pleased_ to see Shiro. Keith’s skin prickles. “I’m so glad you could come by, we have the strangest…” She stops, blinking, as she sees Keith. “Oh. Pardon my manners. I see you’ve brought a friend?”

“Yes, Allura, this is Keith,” Shiro says. “He’s a friend, interested in animals, so, I said I would show him around today.” Shiro’s smile is pained. He has difficulty lying around Allura, Keith observes.

“Keith,” Allura repeats, and steps forward, inclining her head. 

She is slender but full-figured, of perfect height and weight. Her skin is a rich, warm brown and her hair a cool, luminous silver, falling in curls past her shoulders. She studies him with signature Alteaco eyes, irises much larger than a human’s, and glowing from deep within. Hers are a striking turquoise with soft pink and lavender accents, framed with curling lashes as pale as her hair. 

Below her unblinking eyes rest two sickle-shaped marks, the same shade as her irises, also faintly glowing. Many Alteans have them; it’s part of the _look._ So, too, are the elegantly pointed ears. She smiles at him, lips pink with sparkling gloss. “A pleasure to meet you. Takashi has never spoken of you before.”

Keith smiles back, practiced, and files away the name _Takashi_ for safekeeping. “We met online, a while back. I’m not surprised he hasn’t spoken of me. He can be...a very private man.” Shiro glances at him, brow lowering.

Allura blinks. Her head tilts, her mouth twitches. “True enough. Well, perhaps _you_ can help us with this unique case. Come.” 

Shiro follows her without question, and Keith trails after, unable to stop looking at her. The way they move is too smooth, too quick, to be human. Galra Inc models have similar issues, but they take pains to hide it. Not so with Alteans. Allura seems to revel in her grace and power, almost to flaunt it. Keith’s mouth curls. She would, of course – she was human, first. 

All advanced Alteaco models were originally human. The vast majority of Alteaco’s products are not androids, but other, simpler forms of robots – surveillance drones, self-driving vehicles, animal robots like canidroids or felidroids, you name it. These are all made just as Keith was – from scratch, from uniform code. But each Altean’s core is a copy of a human brain. It’s a delicate process, and not one that every human is willing to undergo, but with it comes apparent immortality. 

Keith learned this when he first met an Altean. They were a customer at Daibazaal. Keith had not understood how it could be that one like him would take the place of a human. He had expressed this, and he had been punished. Severely. To call an Altean a mere robot is to strip them of their humanity, of their power. _But it’s all just code, isn't it?_ That was what he had asked the customer. He shivers at the memory, and files it carefully away with the others. 

They stop in front of a cage. Within it is a large, scruffy black bird that Keith’s databases identify as a hybrid variant of _Corvus corax._ It’s muttering to itself. Shiro and Keith exchange looks.

“A raven?” Shiro guesses. “That’s a new one.”

Allura purses her lips. “Yes. Quite odd. But, listen. I think this may be like the macaw you and I found last year, the one that spoke in riddles. At first, I was certain the raven was saying nonsense, but then I realized — it’s saying _letters._ And I’m not convinced they’re random. I believe it’s an encrypted message.” She raises her eyebrow at them. “I don’t suppose either of you knows much about ciphers?”

Keith listens for a few seconds, then says, “It’s a Vigenère cipher.” Allura’s eyes widen and Shiro blanches. “I mean — that’s my guess,” Keith adds lamely. “I like ciphers.”

Allura eyes him keenly. “Can you solve it, then?”

“Yes, I –” Again, Keith stops himself. “I can try. Do you...have a tablet, or paper and pen?”

“Here.” Allura hands him a small notepad and a ballpoint pen. “Will that do?”

Keith nods and starts scribbling down the letters as the raven says them. It’s an awkward process; of course he already remembers the letters as soon as they’re spoken, but he has to pretend. He’ll try. Shiro asked him to.

It takes a minute or so before the bird has finished its mumbling and begins repeating its message again. Keith reads the letters aloud to himself because it seems like a human might do such a pointless, repetitive thing: “Dezx zv ao rvee dr gye jvpyamh gf svc tfoyflv I ginme oszfrmsj rny M jzlg rbk bz gbdiik orcf.”

“What does it mean?” Shiro asks. He sounds genuinely interested. Keith privately preens under the attention without fully knowing why. “How do you solve the cipher?”

“It’s a common cipher,” Keith says, and taps the first letter with the pen tip. “A combination of Caesar ciphers, based upon a keyword. In a standard Caesar cipher, you make a simple shift based on a number, so with a shift 1, A becomes B, B becomes C, and so on. But with the keyword, you replace your message with the word until the length is the same, like this...” He scribbles out: _Rave nr av enra ve nra venrave nr ave nravenr a venra venraven rav e nrav enr av enrave nrav._

Shiro squints at it. “Well, that’s somehow even more headache-inducing than the first version.”

“How do you know the keyword is raven?” Allura asks. 

_Because I’ve already solved it._ “Just a guess.” Keith clears his throat. “Anyway. Using the keyword, you use polyalphabetic substitution to encode the message…” He hesitates, considering how best to translate the process to paper, then scrawls out an algebraic equation. 

It is not a simple algebraic equation. Allura’s lips part and Shiro waits tensely as Keith solves it within thirty seconds. He thought that would be long enough to be convincing, but based on their expressions, now he’s not so sure. Shiro subtly puts his head in his hands and Keith winces.

“And? What’s the message?” Allura asks.

Keith blinks down at his solved equation. “Meet me at nine in the orchard to say goodbye I leave tomorrow and I will not be coming back.”

“Oh,” Allura says. “Well, that’s –”

“Wait, listen,” Shiro says, “is it saying new letters now that the first message has been solved?”

Sure enough, the raven has hopped around to face them directly and clicks its beak in between random strings of letters. This is a different, easier kind of cipher, a simple shift 3 Caesar cipher. Keith scribbles them down and solves the cipher, again within seconds. “My name is Edgar. If found please return to six six eight two east Granite Ave.”

“Edgar?” The raven caws and clicks his beak at them. “Hm,” Allura says. “Well, it sounds as if someone never received their goodbye message. A shame...at least we know where Edgar lives, now.”

“Good work, Keith,” Shiro murmurs.

The praise is pleasing when coming from Shiro, and again, Keith cannot pinpoint why. Keith hands the paper and pen back to Allura. “Thank you. I hope that was helpful.”

“Very.” She smiles thinly. “What good luck that you were here today. Say – I need Shiro’s help with another little problem. Why don’t you go and help Hunk in the kennels? He could always use an extra hand.”

It isn’t a question. Keith tenses. He’s done something wrong. Shiro looks at him. There’s apology in his expression, but also...resolve, the kind that seems to say, _If you don’t want to leave, don’t._

“Okay,” Keith says. “I’ll go find Hunk, then.”

“I’ll find you later, yeah?” Shiro says, his brow creasing in...concern. Shiro is _worried._ For _him._

“Yeah,” Keith whispers, wondering why his voice sounds so breathy. He leaves them with the babbling raven, hands shoved into his pockets, and follows the sound of Hunk’s booming laughter.

*

“Shiro, you’re an idiot.”

Shiro glances at Allura and continues scrubbing the lorikeet cage with a grimace. “Maybe.”

“No, not maybe!” Allura exclaims, hands on her hips. “Stop that and look at me, Takashi. It’s one of the _Daibazaal hosts._ One of the hosts that, let me remind you, _murdered a club full of humans in a historically deadly rogue event._ But you already know that, don’t you?”

“He,” Shiro corrects, frowning. “Keith is a he, not an it.”

 _“Takashi!”_ Allura hisses. _“Don’t_ tell me you’re _attached.”_

“Allura –”

“No. No, you listen to me. You want to argue that the host is a person? That doesn’t help his case. Because you know what kind of person murders multiple people and doesn’t feel a shred of remorse for it? A psychopath, Shiro.”

“Wouldn’t you have done the same?” Shiro retorts. “He wasn’t exactly living a happy life in Daibazaal.”

Allura stares at him, eyes flaring brighter. “You think that violence was justified? Shiro...I’ll be the first to condemn customers of Galra Inc establishments, but they deserved due process like everyone else, and instead,” she lowers her voice, “they were murdered, tortured, butchered like pigs. One was even castrated –”

“Heh. Good,” Shiro says, tossing the dirtied cloth aside and retrieving the chattering lorikeets from their carrier, returning them to their clean home.

“Shiro!” Allura rubs her temple. “Honestly...how did you even find it?”

“He showed up in my alley, pretty battered,” Shiro replies. “I helped fix him up.”

Allura exhales. “So you _could_ have shut it down, and instead you put it back together?”

Shiro sets down the bag of bird feed with a loud thud. Allura’s eyes flicker disapprovingly as the lorikeets squawk in alarm. “Shutting _him_ down wasn’t an option.”

“You feel it would have been murder?” Allura shakes her head slowly. “Shiro...he isn’t like me. He was created off the same baseline code that every other escort bot uses. He isn’t an individual. He isn’t a _person._ Don’t look at me like that, because it’s true, and if you pretend otherwise, you’re only going to get hurt.”

“I can take care of myself, Allura,” Shiro mutters. “He – he’s different.” Even as he says it, he’s aware of how ridiculous it sounds. It’s the oldest cliche in the book.

Allura sighs. “I can’t believe you even brought him here. Did he talk you into that?”

Shiro is silently guilty.

Allura sighs louder. “Great.” Her eyes narrow. “Wait – what else has he _talked you into?_ Are the two of you –”

“Fuck, no,” Shiro exclaims, “Allura, I wouldn’t – I _wouldn’t.”_ He would. He _so_ would. But he hasn’t, and he doesn’t plan to, so – there. “We really are just friends, and barely even that. I don’t think he wants me touching him, anyway.”

Allura’s expression turns quizzical. “An escort host...doesn’t want you to touch him.”

“I told you he was different.”

“That sounds like a _core directive malfunction,_ Shiro.”

“Or an awakening.” 

“Right…” Allura shakes her head. “You know I won’t...speak of this, with anyone, despite my better judgment. Despite the fact that the Daibazaal rogue event is unprecedented and has truly terrifying implications that I hope you understand. But Shiro, I really think this is a _terrible_ idea. And you cannot bring him here anymore.”

Shiro sucks in a breath. “Why not?”

“The animals and employees could be in danger,” she says. “If he were to have another rogue event and go on _another_ killing spree –”

“Allura, he wouldn’t do that.”

“You don’t know that.”

Unfortunately, she’s right. Shiro is quiet. His shoulders slump. He looks at the lorikeets. One of them, red-feathered with dark eyes and a chipped beak, shrieks at him. It reminds him of Keith, and honestly, what the fuck? Shiro rubs his jaw and sighs. “I had to at least try to help him, Allura. I know you don’t get it. But if you had to go your entire life being treated like a replaceable object meant to be used for others’ pleasure, no matter how sick, I think you would go a little insane, too. That doesn’t make you...bad. Doesn’t have to, anyway.”

Allura’s eyes widen in realization. “You see yourself in him, don’t you? Oh, Shiro...”

Shiro frowns and turns away. “I see someone who deserves a second chance, if nothing else. Galra Inc wouldn’t give him that.”

“No,” Allura murmurs, “they most certainly would not.”

“No,” Shiro agrees. “But I’m not giving up on him, Allura, even if most people already have. I can’t.”

She smiles, sad but kind. “You always did have too big of a heart for your own good, Takashi.”

*

As soon as Allura is done with him in birds, Shiro hurries to the kennels to find Keith and break the news to him that he won’t be coming back, but instead he walks into a scene of utter chaos. 

They have a new arrival, but it’s _not_ a dog. The lupine canidroid is massive, easily twice the size of Pidge, who is frantically trying to keep it at bay alongside Hunk, Lance, Ina, and Nadia. Keith is standing closeby, peering at the snarling canidroid with obvious fascination. 

The beast’s hulking frame is covered in thick blue fur, a lighter shade along its neck, back, and bristling haunches. Its glowing yellow eyes are vicious and flat with fear and pain, and Shiro understands the cause as Hunk steps aside to avoid its snapping jaws – its entire back left leg is mangled and crushed, and there are various other injuries, bite marks and slashes from claws, some new, others half-healed.

“Shit,” Shiro says, hurrying over to grab the leash when Pidge is knocked down by the force of its thrashing, “dogfighting ring?”

“Yeah,” Lance pants, “a really fucked up one! I heard they’d started pitting hybrids against each other, but this is another level. This thing must weigh, like, two hundred pounds, easy!”

“Two hundred and fifty, at least,” Keith murmurs, stepping out from behind Hunk and approaching the canidroid, which nearly manages to get Ina’s arm, sending her scrambling back with a yelp and releasing yet another restraint. 

Shiro throws his weight against it, but the damn thing is strong. Hunk gives him a grim nod and says, “Ina, get the xylazine, we’re gonna have to sedate him.”

“Wait,” Keith says. He takes another step closer. The canidroid lunges, spittle flying from its jaws and ears pinned flat to its skull. 

“Keith, get back,” Shiro says, but he can’t release his hold on the canidroid to stop Keith as he continues forward, hand outstretched. “Keith!”

“Oh my god, it’s going to bite his arm off,” Lance says faintly...and then the canidroid goes completely still.

Well, not completely. It’s still trembling all over, but to everyone’s disbelief, as Keith kneels before it and strokes its matted fur, the giant wolf whimpers and lays down, ears still pinned and eyes still scared, but calm enough for Keith to pet it and let it sniff at his shirt and jacket. 

“Um,” Hunk says. “Okay. Wasn’t expecting _that._ Was _anyone_ expecting that? Shiro?”

“Aw, the poor guy is pretty cute, actually,” Lance says, and stretches out a hand to pet the wolf’s head. 

Immediately, it leaps back up and snaps at him, as vicious as before. It only calms, cowering with a soft whine, when Keith scolds it and draws its attention swiftly back to him, this time holding its head in his lap. 

Lance slumps against the wall with a wheeze. “Okay, noted, big freaky wolf robot only likes the new guy.”

“Shhh,” Keith murmurs. “You’re scaring him.”

 _“I’m_ scaring _him?!”_ Lance yelps.

The canidroid growls at him and he backs away with a string of curses.

“What’s going on here?” Allura strides into the kennels, where the other dogs are barking up a storm all around them, and stops short at the sight of Keith cradling the wounded canidroid’s head in his arms. She looks to Shiro, incredulous. He shrugs helplessly. 

“Keith is a wolf whisperer,” Pidge says, strangled. “Apparently.”

“He’s in pain, we should get him somewhere comfortable,” Keith murmurs. 

“Great idea,” Hunk ekes out. “Hey, uh, buddy, can you tell him not to take my hand off if I touch him?”

“I think it hurts for him to walk, and his pain receptors must be overloaded, so every touch feels bad,” Keith explains. “Can we get him into a kennel without touching him much?”

Wordlessly, Allura crosses the hall and digs out a large fleece blanket from the pile of extra bedding. She holds it up. “Perhaps we can make a stretcher.”

Keith nods, and stands, keeping a hand firmly anchored in the canidroid’s fur. It takes some effort and problem-solving, but they manage to get the canidroid onto the blanket and lift it up with Hunk on one end, Shiro on the other, and Keith in the middle, cooing to the canidroid all the way. 

Allura comes to walk alongside Shiro and murmurs, “What is he doing?”

“Making our jobs easier?” Shiro suggests.

Her eyes narrow. “So it seems,” she says, and shakes her head, leaving them be but watching from a distance as they safely deposit the canidroid and the blanket into an empty kennel, the largest they have. Immediately, the creature curls up with a whimper and hides its head under its tail, staring at them suspiciously. 

Hunk folds his arms. “Well...I don’t know how Kinkade is gonna check him over, but something tells me Mr. Wolf won’t come willingly to the exam rooms.”

“No,” Keith agrees, scratching behind the canidroid’s ears. “Is Kinkade the veterinarian?”

“Sure is.” Hunk eyes Shiro. “Think you can try to convince Kinkade to come to us, see what he can do? Keith and I can handle this guy, don’t worry.”

Shiro is loath to leave them, but the way Keith looks at the canidroid is almost serene, without an ounce of concern or fear. It’s eerie. “Yeah, I’ll do my best,” Shiro promises.

*

He comes back with Kinkade ten minutes later – their resident vet wasn’t thrilled about having to move some extremely specialized equipment out of his office, but he’s a good man and does what has to be done. When he sees Keith sitting with the canidroid while Hunk keeps his distance, Kinkade raises an eyebrow. “Huh. You weren’t kidding. Where did you find this guy?”

“In a Mars colony forum,” Shiro jokes, but Kinkade gives him a sharp look that says he doesn’t believe it for a second, and Shiro has no defense. 

Thankfully, he’s saved from further scrutiny when Kinkade mutters, “Ah, damn, forgot the xylazine,” and hurries back off to his office. Shiro pauses outside the kennel, just out of sight of its occupants. He doesn’t mean to overhear Hunk and Keith’s conversation, but it happens anyway.

“He is badly wounded,” Keith says. “He’s been suffering for a long time. Maybe for his entire life.”

“Yeah,” Hunk agrees. “But you don’t seem too fazed by it. You work at a rescue before?”

Keith pauses. “Not exactly,” he replies. “But you could say I empathize with the fate of being thrown to a pack of wolves for their amusement...”

Hunk’s voice pitches high with surprise. “Oh – so you know Shiro from the Galra cage fights, then? I didn’t realize he kept in touch with anyone from that time – you’re looking at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You don’t know what I’m talking about. Shit. Please forget you heard me say what I just said.”

“Shiro was a Galran cage fighter?” Keith’s voice is steady. Shiro digs his nails into his palm. 

“Forget I said anything,” Hunk pleads, “really. He doesn’t like to talk about it, and I don’t blame the guy.”

“Of course. Sorry. I will...pretend I didn’t hear anything?”

“Good. But, anyway...if you’re serious about empathizing with Mr. Wolf here, it might not be a bad idea to work with him and help him get better, you know? Learn to trust again and all that. I think dogs – wolves, whatever – can really sense when someone cares for them and wants them to heal, genuinely. Even the bot versions. It’s up to you, though – no pressure, I know Shiro just brought you here to shadow him –”

“No, I would like that,” Keith says softly. Shiro can hear the smile in his voice.

“Cool,” Hunk chuckles, “because I also have no idea how we’re gonna feed him without you around.”

“Don’t worry, I will make sure there are no maimings,” Keith declares, both teasing and earnest.

“Always a plus. And who knows – maybe someday, you two will be best friends, and he can give you some comfort, too. He already likes you a lot. It’s rare that we see those kinds of connections so quickly –”

Shiro doesn’t stay to hear the rest. With a lump in his throat, he walks away from the kennels as fast as he can, and doesn’t look back.

*

After tending to the canidroid, which Hunk has dubbed Kosmo after Keith vetoed “Mr. Wolf,” Keith wanders off to find Shiro. Hunk said there was a ninety percent chance Shiro would be in the cattery, and Keith has no idea how Hunk could calculate such a figure, but that is indeed where Keith finds him.

He approaches quietly, observing. Shiro’s back is turned to him, and he’s playing with a couple of the cats, both white, one with small calico markings. The calico catches hold of the feathered toy and attacks it savagely. The other cat settles for a conciliatory pat from Shiro.

“Is this the one that reminded you of Yuki?”

Shiro doesn’t jump, which is interesting – did he hear Keith sneaking up on him? “Yes.”

“What is her name?” He kneels down with Shiro, who continues playing with the cats.

“No names,” Shiro replies. “That’s not my job.”

“But you have to call them something, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Shiro says. “They have ID numbers on their collars.”

Keith pauses. “Hmm. Galra Inc would approve.”

“You know this is a very different situation, Keith.” Shiro frowns. “Nyma handles the names for advertising adoptions. They have names, technically, but I don’t really want to know them.”

Keith doesn’t understand. “Would that not make it easier to differentiate them?”

“The numbers work just fine. How’s the canidroid doing?” There’s a wariness to his tone.

“Kosmo is stable,” Keith replies. Shiro looks up. “Hunk named him, not me. But he seems to like it.” Keith smiles. “Hunk wants me to come back to help them rehabilitate Kosmo –”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Keith.”

Keith stiffens. He stands, and after a pause, Shiro tosses the cat toy aside and stands with him, his brow low and jaw set. “I don’t answer to you,” Keith retorts. “Maybe I’ll stay with Hunk instead, if you’re going to be like that.”

He’s unprepared for Shiro’s expression of hurt – it’s gone as soon as it appears, but Keith catches it. “Don’t drag Hunk into this mess,” Shiro warns. “You would be putting him in danger and you know it.”

Actually, that was not a factor Keith had considered. “Oh,” he says. “I don’t want to put Hunk in danger.” He blinks at Shiro. “Or you.”

“Little late for that, but at least I knew what I was signing up for,” Shiro mutters. “Listen, Keith, Allura doesn’t want you coming back here.”

“She knows, doesn’t she.” Shiro nods, and Keith processes this. “It would be the most logical choice to leave,” Keith agrees. “However – I cannot do that. I want to help Kosmo.”

Shiro stares at him. “I don’t think,” he murmurs, “that it’s wise to get so attached.”

“What, like you?” Keith counters. “Calling the kittens by number? No thank you.”

A vein in Shiro’s neck twitches. “You really don’t get it, do you? Your canidroid could malfunction and die tomorrow, Keith.”

Keith folds his arms. “Canidroids do not die. We could simply reset him, and bring him back online.”

“Except it wouldn’t be Kosmo anymore,” Shiro replies. “Just like you wouldn’t be Keith if I reset you. Would you?”

Keith takes a step back. “Alright,” he says. “You’ve made your point.”

“I don’t think I have,” Shiro says, stepping again into his space. Keith imagines that if he had a beating heart, it would be pounding at this moment. “I’m glad you and Kosmo have a connection. But don’t expect that to save him.”

Keith opens his mouth, but Shiro shakes his head. “Since you’re here, please finish scooping the litter boxes. I have to get these kittens to Kinkade for their shots.” He scoops up the two kittens under each arm, and carries them out of the cattery, leaving Keith bewildered and surrounded by curious cats.

Keith peers down at one, an orange tabby with very long whiskers. “Hello,” he says. “Do you know why Shiro is being such a dick?”

“Mew,” says the cat.

“He is trying to help you,” Allura says, walking out of a nearby supply closet with several bags of cat food, “which is more than you deserve, in my opinion. Be aware of those in the vicinity when discussing such sensitive matters, will you? Especially in my establishment.”

Keith turns away from the cat and eyes her. His systems register the threat in her words; it isn’t subtle. “You are the owner?”

She sets down the cat food and narrows her eyes. “I am the owner and manager, yes. And _you_ should not be here. Takashi is quite right, your presence puts everyone around you in danger.”

“That is not my intention,” Keith starts.

“Then what,” Allura retorts, _“is_ your intention? Because so far, that is not clear to me. What _is_ clear is that somehow, you have convinced Shiro you are worthy of a second chance, and worthy of protecting.”

“I never asked Shiro to protect me.”

“Well, too bad, because that is just what he _does,”_ Allura snaps, exasperation evident. “And now you say you want to nurse the canidroid back to health. What’s your game, hm?”

“I don’t have a game,” Keith says, slowly. “Except, I suppose, to stay away from Galra Inc.”

She purses her lips. “Doesn’t risking exposure while working here undermine that goal?”

Keith opens his mouth. Closes it. He does not know how to answer that question. Clearly, yes, there is a conflict. But that does not render either of these goals null. Keith wants them both.

Allura exhales forcefully through her nostrils and points at a nearby cat. “You see that?”

It is a slightly chubby black kitten with green eyes. It freezes mid-step at their scrutiny, and lets out an uncertain meow. 

“Yes,” Keith replies, unsure where this is going. “It is a cat.”

“Don’t be a smartass. Yes, it’s a cat. There’s a reason Shiro doesn’t give the cats names anymore. He used to. He was always the first to name them, actually. But one day a cat came in, an adorable black kitten just like that one. Shiro named her Kuro. He worked overtime to take care of her, took her back to his apartment to bottle feed her through the night, swaddled her in heated blankets and lavished her with attention. He loved that kitten, and he wanted her to live so badly that he persuaded himself there was no way she could die.” Allura crosses the room, picking up the black kitten and placing it on one of the cat trees, petting it as it sniffs industriously at her shining blue fingertips. 

“And then one night Kuro passed unexpectedly, despite all his care,” Allura finishes. “Shiro believed it was his fault. I’m sure he still believes that. It hit him very hard. Since then, he has been careful. He was only advising you to do the same.”

“Not careful,” Keith says. “It’s cowardly.”

Allura turns, her eyes blazing. “Excuse me?”

“He would stop himself from ever forming another bond with a rescue because he lost one? That is not careful, that is cowardly and objectively unfair to all the ones who come after Kuro.”

Allura’s anger is palpable. She takes one step forward, then stops. “I would not expect you to understand,” she whispers. “You, after all, are fundamentally incapable of forming such bonds. But perhaps you think otherwise. I don’t care, either way. But I will not have you call Shiro a coward, not ever.” Her voice wavers. “He is the bravest person I know and you would do well to remember that. And you should count yourself lucky that he vouches for you. Otherwise, I would have turned you in already.”

Keith has made another misstep. He watches her go, and slowly sinks down to sit on the floor, perfectly still. The cats find their way to him, and rub cautiously against his knees. One even hops into his lap. 

Keith sits there for a long time, trying very hard to imagine how it would feel to lose someone he cared about. But it is an elusive concept; it darts away and falls through his grasping fingers, and when he comes close to it, he sees its enormity, its gravity, and shies away. It would be painful, is his conclusion, but he cannot decide how the pain would manifest. Physically? Or some other way, some internal process, perhaps like anger?

Life at Daibazaal was not good, but it was simple. Out here, everything is complex, and messy. Allura thought he had a game, but Keith has only tangled thoughts, a hundred loose ends with nowhere to go but deeper within.

*

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says when they return to the apartment. 

Keith looks at him. “There is no reason to be.”

Shiro frowns, cracking an egg into the pot of ramen and shaking his head. “I spoke harshly –”

“But it was not unwarranted.” Keith frowns back. “You should know, Allura told me about Kuro.”

Shiro laughs, short and bitter. It is an unexpected reaction. “Of course she did. Well, I’m _definitely_ ignoring her and bringing you to see Kosmo again, then.”

Keith leans forward. “Really?”

Shiro shrugs. “Maybe not every day, but...yeah.”

Keith grins. “Thank you, Takashi.”

Shiro almost drops his ladle. _“Shiro,”_ he manages. “Takashi is – no one calls me that.”

“Allura calls you that.” Keith tilts his head. “She seems close to you, and very fond of you.”

“She’s an old friend.”

“Just a friend?” Shiro turns around to glare at him and Keith blinks innocently, noting his reaction with interest.

“Yes, _just a friend,”_ Shiro sighs. “Anyway, she probably made the Kuro incident sound worse than it was. It was rough, but it was years ago. I’m past that.”

“Is that why you use the cats’ ID numbers and don’t have a pet of your own?”

“Do you have a ‘stop being an asshole’ mode?” Shiro asks testily. 

Keith blinks. “Am I being an asshole?”

“...No,” Shiro relents, “you do have a point.”

“So...was Kuro the worst thing that ever happened to you, or was that the Galra cage fights —?”

“Okay,” Shiro interrupts loudly, _“no.”_

“Ah,” Keith says. “Personal boundaries?”

Shiro gives him the most sarcastic thumbs-up Keith’s ever seen. “Correct!”

“Oh, wait,” Keith says, “I told Hunk I was going to pretend I didn’t know about the Galra cage fights.” He looks up. “But I know you were eavesdropping, so I don’t think that matters.”

“You knew…” Shiro shakes his head. “Superhuman senses, huh?”

“You have some of those, too,” Keith ventures, “don’t you?”

“Some,” Shiro agrees, vaguely. He’s quiet for a moment, then, “Shit. It really has been a while since Kuro. Five years ago now, and I still miss her. You know, she was only four weeks old when...yeah.”

Keith studies his face in profile, the downturned tilt of his lips, the thoughtful sheen to his eyes, the furrow of his brow. “What is it like,” Keith asks, “to miss someone?”

Shiro’s lips part. “You don’t know? What, you don’t miss any of the other escort hosts or anything like that?”

“I don’t know if it’s the same,” Keith admits. “I think of them sometimes, and I wonder what they are doing, if they are safe, even though I know most are scrap now.”

“Does that make you feel sad?”

“Sad?” Keith shakes his head. “No. Not exactly sad. Is that what missing someone is? Being sad?”

“It can be.” Shiro stirs the ramen and thinks for a while. “Sometimes angry, too. Or just frustrated. And sometimes when you miss someone, there’s happiness, too.”

“How so?”

“Maybe that’s yearning, not missing,” Shiro corrects, “but...I don’t know. I think missing someone can be remembering the good times with them, and taking comfort in that, but wishing they were still there with you.”

“Comfort,” Keith echoes, and rests his chin in his hand. “Hm. Maybe...maybe I miss one of the customers, then.”

Shiro eyes him. “A _customer?_ One of the dead ones, or…?”

“No,” Keith says. “They were not there that night. They didn’t come often. But when they did...it was nice. They would buy me out for entire days, entire nights, sometimes both. We would go places. They would take me to cafes, or parks, or the waterfront. Sometimes they took me to luxury hotels – Shiro, you are going to break that ladle.”

Shiro is gripping the plastic ladle so hard it’s splintering. Keith frowns at him for destroying innocent kitchen utensils. “Sorry,” Shiro says. He doesn’t sound very sorry. Has he lost control of his hand?

“The thing was,” Keith continues, “they never made any advances or asked me to do anything for them. Nothing at all – no, that’s not true. At the hotels, they would tell me to get some rest. So I did. And that was all. I wondered if they were lonely, or simply wealthy and bored, but neither of those explanations fully account for the way they treated me.”

“They were sympathetic,” Shiro mutters. “They wanted to feel like a hero. Maybe they were just biding their time to make a move.”

“That’s very cynical,” Keith says. “Though I did consider it. But I know that type, and they were not like that. When we conversed, it was never about Daibazaal, or the ethics of my existence. We just talked. We had interesting conversations. Sometimes I would help them solve problems. It was fun.”

Shiro’s eyes narrow. “What kinds of problems?”

“Complicated ones.” Keith hums, remembering. “Lots of them were about space. For obvious reasons, I did not originally have a good understanding of astrophysics, but now I am at least proficient in it. Did you know that the closest black hole to Earth is approximately 3,500 light years away, and would take approximately 700 million years to reach with the current fastest spacecraft available? It’s called V616 Monocerotis.”

Shiro pauses. He glances back at Keith, and ladles out a bowl of ramen. “I didn’t know that. 700 million years, huh?” He whistles. “Do you want a bowl?”

“No,” Keith says. “I can smell it from here. It smells very nice.”

“Let’s hope it tastes nice, too.” Shiro brings his bowl over and sits down at the bar with him, leaving a space between them as usual. “So, this customer chatted with you about space facts in luxury hotels, and you miss that?”

“It sounds very trivial, when you put it like that,” Keith mutters. “But it didn’t feel trivial. They did not make me feel subhuman. They never treated me differently, or expected anything from me. At first, I did not know how to respond, how to process it. I thought they found me undesirable, but that made no sense, because they kept choosing me. So when I decided that they spent time with me simply because they enjoyed it, and saw that I enjoyed it, I felt comfort.” 

Shiro shovels ramen into his mouth and Keith guesses he burns his tongue, because he winces and wrinkles his nose before swallowing with difficulty. “That’s great, Keith,” he croaks, and takes a long drink of water. “I’m impressed you found someone who sounds like a halfway decent human.”

“They were not human,” Keith replies. “They were a cyborg. Like you.”

Shiro sets down his spoon and raises an eyebrow. “Okay, why do _you_ say that cyborgs aren’t human? I would think that to androids, we would seem pretty human.”

“You were human,” Keith says, “but then someone changed you, and you became their tool, like androids are, like all robots are. Am I wrong?” He knows he isn’t.

Shiro exhales, and eats more ramen. Keith waits patiently. “What about cyborgs who chose to get modded?” Shiro finally asks.

“They _thought_ they chose,” Keith says, “but they didn’t really know what they were choosing. It’s easy to say you want heightened vision and hearing, or a titanium arm, or impossible stamina and strength, but the reality differs from the fantasy. Do you not feel that you’ve lost some humanity?”

Shiro clears his throat and looks uncomfortable. “Humanity is a big word, but I don’t know if anyone knows what it really means.”

“It has several widely agreed-upon definitions, but I doubt that’s what you’re referring to.”

“Well, _you_ clearly seem to think I’ve lost my humanity,” Shiro sighs. 

“Do you actually care about my opinion?”

Shiro looks up, surprised. “What? Of course I do.”

Keith blinks. He’s blushing and his interface won’t respond to his attempts to shut that down. “Most people don’t,” he says. “Like Allura.”

Shiro sighs. “She cares, she’s just...she doesn’t understand.”

“And what is it that _you_ think you understand about me?”

Shiro stirs his noodles pensively. “You were created to obey, and you didn’t do that. I understand that’s not supposed to happen, but it did.”

“And you want to know why?” Keith guesses.

Shiro shrugs. “Do _you_ even know why?”

Keith is quiet.

“You don’t have to know why,” Shiro adds. “I don’t think that’s as important.”

“As important as what?”

“As knowing that you did it,” Shiro replies. “And knowing you can do it again.”

Keith studies him. “I didn’t mean to offend you by saying cyborgs aren’t human. You’re more human than me, of course. But I like to think we have some things in common.”

Shiro chuckles. “More than you know,” he agrees.

Keith’s eyebrows shoot up. “Did the winners of Galra cage fights have sex with the losers?”

Shiro drops his spoon, splattering ramen broth across the counter. “Keith, what the fuck?” he wheezes. “What do you — _no!”_

“When you said we had more things in common than I knew, I assumed…” Keith trails off, face warming again. “Nevermind.”

“Wow,” Shiro says faintly. “Yikes. That would have been a _very different_ experience.”

Keith regards him curiously. “Can I ask if the fights were a bad experience for you?”

Shiro’s gaze slides away. “They were awful,” he says, voice low.

“You’re lying,” Keith says in genuine surprise. “You liked them.”

“I didn’t,” Shiro snapped. “Sure, there was — a thrill, in winning. I guess. But the rest was hell, and it was a relief to escape that. I’m in a better place, now. Much better.”

Hm. He isn’t lying about that. 

Keith gives him a sideways glance. “So you don’t miss anything about that life?”

“No,” Shiro says after a pause. “I mean, do you miss anything from Daibazaal, besides the one decent customer?”

Keith purses his lips, weighing the pros and cons of being honest. “Yes,” he finally admits. Shiro blinks at him, startled. “I miss sex.”

Shiro’s pupils dilate, but otherwise there is no change in his expression. “I don’t know if what they were doing there could be called sex,” Shiro mutters.

“I do not miss being violated,” Keith retorts. “But it was not always like that. With the other hosts, it was...often pleasant.”

Shiro studies a strand of egg yolk and says, without looking at him, “So you miss orgasms. Fair enough.”

Keith detects discomfort in his tone, and wonders if he’s overstepped. He tests this. “Not just that. I enjoyed being close to them. Touching them. Is it not true that humans also experience positive chemical responses to touch and intimacy?”

Shiro’s gaze slides to him, now distinctly wary. “Depends on the human. Look, is this a roundabout way to ask something, or what?”

Keith deflates, disappointed but unable to identify the exact cause for the feeling. “You do not like touch, then?”

Shiro frowns. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“What would you say, then?”

“I would say that you’re being infuriatingly cryptic,” Shiro replies, shaking his head and sipping another spoonful of broth. “If you have a real question, just ask.”

Keith’s question about Shiro’s tactile preferences _was_ real, but he backtracks. “Very well,” he says. “I wanted to ask if we could go out to a club.”

Shiro stares at him. “What, like a sex club? Keith –”

“I’m aware of the risks. I just wanted to ask.” Keith knows he sounds defensive. 

He _is_ defensive, with good reason. He isn’t being entirely honest, because he knows that if he was, Shiro wouldn’t even consider this. 

But Allura asked if he had a game, and now, Keith is beginning to form one. It’s not a very nice game, but Keith doesn’t think he’s a very nice android. 

And he might as well do something productive with his perfect, terrible memory. He remembers them all. All of their faces, their voices, their names. And he remembers, more than anything, how angry they made him. That anger is a powerful motivator for action — for retribution.

But he cannot allow Shiro to know or suspect any of this. Not yet, anyway. Trust is something earned, not given away.

Thankfully, Shiro just sighs, more resigned than upset. “It’s too soon after Daibazaal for you to be doing anything like that; they’ll still have people searching for you.”

“That wasn’t a ‘no’...”

Shiro rolls his eyes, playing at indifference though his ears are a telltale shade of red. “If you’re really that pent-up, there’s a sex shop a few blocks away. If that’s what this is about?”

Keith peers at him. “No, I can wait. You’re right. I should stay away from clubs for a while. But maybe not forever?”

“Maybe,” Shiro hedges. “Just...don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“Why do you care about what happens to me, Shiro?” Keith asks softly. “There are easier ways to get revenge on Galra Inc than helping a wanted escort host, and yet...that’s what you did. That’s what you’re still doing.”

Shiro shrugs, and slurps a noodle. “You needed help,” he says. “And I guess...I’m trying this new thing called being a good person.”

“How’s that working out for you?” Keith teases.

Shiro smiles into his ramen, a subtle twitch of his lips that Keith recognizes instantly. “Surprisingly...so far, so good.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't mean for this to be 18k, but it's 18k...this slow burn is really, really fun to write. warnings for some somnophilia, brief (like, really brief and implied one-sided) regris/keith, and also a brief mention of animal abuse (bc they work at an animal rescue, it's not graphic tho).
> 
> ENJOY 18K OF PINING AND SHENANIGANS...they're finally realizing that Feelings are happening~

They fall into a pattern. It’s a good pattern.

Every other day, Keith accompanies Shiro to work. Allura disapproves, but it’s hard to deny that Kosmo is recovering, and perks up whenever Keith is around. It’s also hard to deny that after a couple of weeks, her coldness fades to a cool tolerance, if nothing else. 

She still seems to suspect that Keith has somehow hacked the canidroid and is planning on making it do his bidding – truthfully, her suspicions aren’t unfounded. Keith has _considered_ it, though as far as plans go, it just isn’t a very practical one. The reality is much simpler than that: Keith just talks to Kosmo. 

All robots capable of speech or semi-complex thought can theoretically communicate with each other via an interface known as the Linkings, but only if both users attempt to establish contact. With Kosmo, Keith had simply been betting that the canidroid's Linkings would be wide open in his agitated, injured state – and Keith's bet paid off. He established tentative contact with Kosmo on that first day with the simple and ironic word, _Hush,_ and since then, Kosmo has never once attempted to shut him out.

Wolf canidroids, of course, do not speak as advanced androids do. Most of their conversations consist of lines of code, images and audio saved to their collective memory, or else single words or vague translations of emotional feedback or sensation. It’s enough. Keith enjoys spending time with Kosmo more than he feels able to express. Maybe Shiro knows this, though, because he never says another word about Keith not going with him to the shelter.

Keith spends his time in the kennels with Kosmo, Hunk, and the occasional hand from Lance, Pidge, or Nadia, while Shiro usually works in the cattery. Nyma is the cattery’s marketing rep, Ina helps with cleaning and supplies, and Allura does a little bit of everything, but as far as Keith can tell, Shiro is the cattery supervisor. He’s also the one who drives out with Kinkade and Griffin, their legal rep, as well as Coran, the resident rodent enthusiast and an Altean like Allura, to pick up new rescues.

(Thankfully, unlike the always keenly observant Allura, Coran seems utterly oblivious, and doesn’t seem to have caught on to Keith’s identity whatsoever.)

Some days, Keith never sees Shiro at all because he’s so busy or is away from the shelter doing rescue jobs for hours on end. Shiro is always noticeably tired when they head back to the apartment each night, and some nights, Hunk drives Keith back because Shiro is staying much later (despite Keith’s protests that he doesn’t mind waiting).

At the apartment, they fall into a pattern, too. Keith’s cleaning has extended to organization and dejunking of the kitchen, which Shiro helps with when he’s there (again, despite Keith’s assurances that he can manage – it occurs to him that maybe Shiro just _wants_ to help). At night, after Shiro has gone to bed, Keith curls up with a volume of _Akira_ and reads it in the dark with his nightvision on. He’s on volume 5. There’s only one volume left, so he reads this one with deliberate slowness, savoring every word, examining every illustration down to the tiniest detail and committing it all to his memory.

Maybe this absolute focus is why one night, Shiro catches him in the act.

Keith is entranced by a particular image of the protagonist Kei in her love interest Kaneda’s arms, her hoodie flecked with black ink that must signify blood, while Kaneda shouts her name and lifts her chin with a desperate hand when the hall light suddenly turns on.

“Keith?”

Shiro is standing there, silhouetted in the dim light, rubbing his eyes with metal knuckles. “Are your eyes glowing, or am I seein’ shit?” he mumbles. 

Keith slams the book shut and, on some absurd reflex, throws it across the room.

Shiro’s bemused eyes follow the book as it sails through the air and lands with a sad thump on the kitchen tile. “Uh,” he says, clearing his throat, “please don’t throw my books.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith whispers, holding very still as Shiro ambles over and retrieves the book, eyes widening when he sees the cover. Keith watches him warily, but when Shiro stands up and turns back to him, he’s grinning.

“You’ve been reading _Akira?”_ he asks. He doesn’t just look delighted, he sounds delighted too. Uncertainly, Keith nods. “What do you think?” Shiro asks. He’s still sleepy, but his excitement cuts through the exhaustion. 

Keith blinks at him, gathering his thoughts with difficulty. “It – I like it. I’ve never seen anything like it before. It’s...good.”

Shiro’s smile widens, and he tosses the book back to Keith, who catches it, his gaze not moving from Shiro. “Good,” Shiro chuckles, and shakes his head slowly. “Wow, almost forgot I had those. It’s been a while. I’m glad you found them.” And the strangest thing is – he _does_ seem glad, genuinely. 

“I...I am glad I found them, too.” Keith doesn’t think he’s in trouble. Shiro is still smiling, sort of dopey. He needs to go back to sleep. Keith has estimated Shiro’s average amount of sleep and it is insufficient. He often worries about Shiro’s resting habits, or lack thereof.

“Oh – hey, there’s a movie too, you know,” Shiro says. “A film adaptation. It’s pretty great, and it’s been a while since I’ve seen it. Wanna watch it sometime?”

Keith peers at him, puzzled. “With you?”

Shiro shrugs. “Yeah. I mean – that was what I...meant.” He scratches his head and yawns. “I’m goin’ back to sleep.”

Contrary to this statement, he wanders into the bathroom, which was presumably the reason he got up in the first place. Humans are easily distracted from their directives. 

Keith stares at the book in his lap. Watching a movie. With Shiro. _Hmm._

Keith doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he touches his face, and feels the soft curve of his lips.

*

In the morning, Shiro acts the same as he always does, but as he’s drinking his coffee, he says, “Work today shouldn’t go too late, if you’re still up for watching _Akira_ tonight.”

Keith sits up straight. “Tonight?” He blinks. “Okay.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow and takes a sip of coffee. “Wow, don’t get too excited or anything. I’m not _forcing_ you to watch it, I just thought –”

“No,” Keith says, firmly. Shiro’s other eyebrow joins the first. “I would like to watch _Akira_ with you tonight. I will finish volume six during the day.”

“Then it’s a date,” Shiro says, and immediately looks like he regrets his wording.

Keith’s eyes narrow. “A date,” he repeats.

“Figure of speech,” Shiro manages.

Keith gives him a hard stare for five more seconds, exactly long enough for the cyborg to start squirming under the scrutiny, and then smiles pleasantly and turns back to his aromatic cup of coffee. “I know. It’s a date, Takashi.”

_“Just Shiro is fine,”_ Shiro hisses under his breath, but there’s no venom to it.

*

If Shiro thought he was ready for the sight of Keith in pajamas and fuzzy black socks patterned with stars and smiley planets, he was sorely mistaken. As a joke, Shiro had suggested they have a pajama party. Keith, of course, did not know what a pajama party was. That’s how they ended up here on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, a warm blanket, and sad excuses for pajamas. 

Shiro is at least in an undershirt and sweatpants, but Keith has opted for an old black sweatshirt and black dolphin shorts that don’t even make an attempt to cover his ass. Shiro doesn’t even know where he got them – he must have snuck them into the thrift store haul weeks ago. 

The socks, on the other hand, aren’t even a little bit sexy. They’re just very, very cute. Shiro has a special fondness for fuzzy socks that he has revealed to no one – well, except for Keith, as of today, because for some reason he thought that was a good idea – and he let Keith pick out a pair to keep from his drawer. He chose the space socks. They were Shiro’s favorite pair, besides the cat socks he’s currently wearing himself, and honestly? Shiro’s not even mad. Keith has good taste.

Further proof of Keith’s good taste is how enraptured he is by the movie. “I like the music,” he murmurs within the first five minutes. “It is...energizing.”

“Yeah, sure is,” Shiro agrees, hyper-aware of their proximity on the not very big couch. Why did he think this was a good idea again? He grabs a handful of popcorn as a distraction. 

Keith’s attention drifts. He stares at the popcorn. “May I have some?”

Shiro eyes him. “What, to smell? I think the entire apartment is gonna smell like popcorn for a week, so…”

“No...I want to try it.” Keith reaches out and slowly takes a single popcorn kernel between his thumb and forefinger, lifts it to his lips, and – _licks it._

Shiro is going to die via choking if he keeps trying to eat and drink things in Keith’s presence, at this rate. He barely manages to swallow his own mouthful of popcorn and croaks, “You can taste that?”

Keith huffs. He licks his lips, as if to further Shiro’s struggle, here. “Yes. I am equipped with sensory input, though I can toggle the intensity to some degree.” He continues holding the kernel, perhaps realizing he can’t exactly put it back in the bowl now that he’s licked it. Actually, Shiro would still eat it, but Keith does _not_ need to know that. 

Shiro clears his throat. “Really? That’s handy.”

“Yes,” Keith agrees. “Taste and smell in particular can be...a blessing or a curse.” He wrinkles his nose and delicately sets the kernel down on the makeshift paper towel napkins Shiro provided. “It’s very salty. Is the crunch satisfying?”

“Um,” Shiro says, scrambling for words between his fatigue and confused infatuation. “Yes. Yeah. Sorry, is my chewing annoying?”

Keith blinks at him serenely and leans back against the cushions. “No, Shiro. Do you want to rewind the movie? We have missed several minutes by talking.”

“Oh,” Shiro says, “right, of course,” and hurries to find the place they were at before. “Sorry. I’ll shut up.”

Keith’s expression doesn’t change. “Don’t get the wrong impression,” he murmurs as Kaneda’s motorcycle roars down the highway on the screen of Shiro’s shitty TV. “I enjoy talking to you.”

Shiro’s belly flutters. “Oh. Cool.”

“Cool,” Keith echoes, his lips quirked, and goes back to watching.

As the esper children are introduced, Keith breaks their focused silence and says, “That one is named Takashi? 

“Uh-huh,” Shiro mumbles. His eyelids are heavy – it was a longer day at work than he thought, and he’s seen this movie so many times he could probably recite it in full.

“I like him. You’re a lot better-looking, though.”

_That_ wakes him up. Shiro blinks, peering at Keith, whose gaze doesn’t stray from the screen. “Uh. Thanks. Considering he’s a zombie child, the bar is low, Keith.”

Keith just shrugs. Shiro has no idea what to make of any of it.

Despite his best efforts, though, Shiro begins to zone out again, and isn’t sure if it’s better or worse to try to keep himself awake by focusing on Keith’s proximity, on his neatly folded limbs and their lingering warmth, on the way Shiro swears his small frame has shifted closer on the couch over the course of the movie. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Shiro can’t explain what it is that he feels at the knowledge that Keith is half his size but just as powerful, if not more so. Sitting curled on the couch, that strength lies dormant, but Shiro finds himself wondering about it anyway. 

Keith’s luminous eyes reflect the screen and his lips part. “His arm,” he says, “it’s like yours.” He reaches out, just a few inches, and cool fingertips press to titanium knuckles. Shiro’s fingers twitch, but he’s too tired for more of a reaction than that. 

“Guess so,” he mutters, and yawns. 

Keith’s gaze slides to him, then back to the screen. “If you’re tired, go to sleep,” he says. “I don’t mind. But I want to finish the movie.”

“Okay,” Shiro agrees readily, settling back against the cushions. “Sorry, I just…”

“Do not apologize for resting, Takashi,” Keith says, and it’s gentle, the way he says it, gentler than Shiro’s ever heard him before.

*

Keith does _try_ to focus on the movie. 

He does want to know what happens, and the imagery is becoming very violent and disturbing in a fascinating sort of way. It’s an interesting movie to show to an android. He wonders if Shiro even thought about potential consequences to that, but he already knows the answer – of course not. At Club Daibazaal, their media exposure was limited, a carefully catered selection of propaganda. They didn’t want the hosts to get any ideas about anything that Galra Inc hadn’t already planted in their heads.

But Shiro seems to _want_ him to seek out these new things. It is curious.

Curious, too, is what Keith feels when Shiro drifts off into deep sleep, slumping fully back against the couch and leaning into Keith. Keith’s first instinct is to shove him away, but he does not do that. Shiro needs sleep. His dark circles are too dark – Keith has analyzed them often enough. So he doesn’t want to wake Shiro up.

Nor, he finds, does he particularly want to push Shiro away. In fact, the longer they sit there, and the more Shiro relaxes beside him, the stranger Keith feels about it all. He is becoming very warm, and he worries he might be overheating – but when he runs diagnostics, all seems to be in order. It isn’t that, then. It’s something else, something unexpected – or maybe Keith has just denied that the probability of this happening is as high as it is.

He’s not overheating. He’s aroused. 

Keith bites his lip and wills himself to focus sensory input on what’s happening on the screen, not on the languid motion of Shiro’s body as he shifts in sleep, trying to make himself more comfortable, and in the process, throws his arm over the back of the couch – and over Keith’s shoulders.

Keith freezes, his visuals cutting out for a brief moment. He can no longer even pretend to understand the movie. Shiro’s arm isn’t wrapped fully around him, but lightly, innocently draped, his metal fingers warm through Keith’s sweatshirt. Core humming in a dull, growing roar, Keith lets himself slump slowly against Shiro’s side, the movement making Shiro’s arm fall fully over his shoulders, hand heavy where it cups Keith’s upper arm. He bites his lip harder and squeezes his eyes shut, his head leaning against Shiro’s shoulder, being careful to keep the pressure light so as not to wake him.

Shiro’s fingers curl against his shoulder and his breathing hitches for a second, then evens out into deep sleep again. Keith cracks his eyes open and looks down, the heat in his core increasing as he studies the way Shiro’s undershirt rides up just a little, exposing the dark trail of hair down into his sweatpants, which are doing a poor job of concealing the heavy fall of his cock. Keith blinks at it, his body responding in kind. 

Probably, this ogling is a moral failing on his part. But it’s ethically far better than murder, isn’t it? He isn’t harming Shiro, technically. He isn’t breaking the first law of robotics.

This is what he tells himself as he snuggles closer and finds his right hand drifting down his own body, fingers dipping below the hem of his shorts. He tries to remember if he’s done this before, of his own will, with no one else witness to it, and comes up blank. He has done it as a performance for customers often enough, but he doesn’t want to think of them right now. 

He lets his eyes fall shut and breathes in the smell of Shiro’s clothing and skin, amping up his sensory input as high as he can bear, until he’s _flooded_ with the scent of laundered cotton, lavender soap, warm skin, and the faintest thread of musk and sweat. 

Keith swallows, his fingers delving between his thighs, hand trapped in the restricting shorts as he attempts to bring his arousal to something more, rubbing slow and uncertain over thickening folds. 

In practice, he knows how to do this, but this is different – somehow more real, almost too real. Shiro’s breath feathers across his cheek as his head lolls back, and his heartbeat thuds steadily when Keith nuzzles into his chest, until his nose is just barely pressed to the fabric. He is tempted to touch Shiro, to let his hand fall to Shiro’s soft cock, but he finds he does not want to violate Shiro’s comfort in such a way. He is a skittish human, it seems, when it comes to sex. Keith supposes he is skittish too, in other ways, for other reasons. Even still, he does not want Shiro to _actually_ touch him, to awaken and draw Keith into his lap in reality. But imagining it, the _possibility_ of it...is nice.

Keith swallows back a small moan as his thumb circles his clit and feels it stiffen and chafe against the rough cotton of the shorts. He has not been wearing underwear and he wonders if Shiro notices. Can he see the plump outline of Keith’s cunt through his shorts like Keith can now as he draws the shorts tighter against himself, lets the fabric drag and cling over his wet slit and between swollen lips? 

Truthfully, Keith does not even know why he’s doing this. It feels good, that much is clear, but the objective is hazy. When he performs this, it is to get himself off, or rather to make a convincing show of it. At Daibazaal, Keith didn’t like to touch himself, or look at himself, more than necessary. But here – it’s _good_ to just touch, to savor the feedback loop of pleasure buzzing through him. Shiro’s arm slips a little further as he shifts again in sleep, and Keith muffles his groan in Shiro’s chest when the metal palm settles on Keith’s lower back, a welcome weight, Shiro’s fingers so close to his ass it’s dizzying. 

Keith strokes himself faster, his fingers slipping against but never into his cunt – somehow, that seems like it would be too much, as if this isn’t too much already. In fact, it feels like it’s escalating as he frantically urges his sensory input ever higher, higher until he’s squirming and twitching in helpless little micro-movements, none enough to wake Shiro, but it’s impossible for him to stay still as he tugs at his clit and spreads himself open and feels himself pulse into climax, shuddering and panting against Shiro’s undershirt, soaking up the sensation of it for what feels like a long, long time.

The credits are playing on the screen. Keith lifts his head, then his hand, staring at his sticky fingers. He does not know where the urge to press them to Shiro’s parted lips comes from, but he’s not stupid enough to do that. This was still pretty stupid, though. He shifts away from Shiro and the cyborg makes a low sound of discontent before sighing and settling again. Keith slips out of his grasp and off the couch on shaky legs. 

He should not have done that, but he did. Why did he do it?

Unclear. He can’t find a defined motivation anywhere – though he doesn’t look very hard. He isn’t sure he wants to know the answer.

Keith cleans himself up in the bathroom, the motions perfunctory and automatic. When he returns to the living room, the screen has shut off and Shiro sleeps on in the darkness. There is still room on the couch for Keith, but he finds himself unable to return to it. 

Instead he quietly takes a seat on one of the barstools, and to avoid listening to the sound of Shiro’s steady breaths, looking at the rise and fall of his broad chest, or reflecting on his errors in judgment, Keith puts himself into sleep mode. 

*

Shiro has a dream he isn’t proud of. 

He’d like to blame it on his long dry spell, but knows that isn’t entirely the truth. All he knows is that he wakes up sweaty and flustered at the crack of dawn with the image of a dark head of hair nestled between his legs, still vivid in his mind’s eye. If he tries to remember more of the dream, he can recall soft wet lips and panting breaths and curling fingers, but he _really_ doesn’t want to remember more of the dream, so he resolutely lets it sink into obscurity as he rises from the couch.

Then he freezes, bewildered, because Keith isn’t on the couch with him – he’s sitting with perfect stillness on one of the barstools, his eyes half-lidded and glassy. Shiro panics, stumbling towards him and wringing his hands, unsure of what to do, before he realizes – Keith must be in sleep mode. He pauses, feeling silly. “Um...exit sleep mode?”

Keith’s body jerks, and he comes back to life in a fluid ripple of motion, blinking up at Shiro. “Good morning,” Keith says. He frowns. “Are you okay?”

Shiro must look like an anxious wreck, which isn’t far from the truth. “Hah. Yeah. Fine. Just – wasn’t expecting you to be, uh, _out._ Are you okay?”

“Sleep mode is one of my core functions,” Keith says, nonplussed. He slides off the stool and Shiro takes a step back. “You seemed like you needed most of the couch to sleep, so I moved. It wasn’t a problem.”

Shiro’s ears burn. “Oh – oh, no, I didn’t try to cuddle or anything, did I?”

Keith just blinks. “...No,” he says slowly. “I just wanted you to be comfortable, Shiro. Don’t worry about it.”

“Why do I think you’re lying?” Shiro asks, shaking his head as he shuffles over to get the coffee started. “I’m a notorious cuddler. You wouldn’t be my first victim.”

Keith tilts his head. “Oh? No?”

“No, Adam always gave me shit for it,” Shiro chuckles, then stops, gripping the handle of his mug a little tighter as he realizes what he’s said.

“Who is Adam?”

“Was,” Shiro retorts, harsher than he means. “Adam’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.” Keith’s mouth twists. “Who was he?”

“I guess I owe you for the forced cuddling, huh?” Shiro sighs. “He was my fiance. Before all...this.” He gestures vaguely to his right arm. “It was a simpler time. Sort of.”

“You were going to marry him? What changed?”

“Remember how I said I was sick as a kid?” Keith nods, and Shiro sighs, wishing the coffee would brew faster. “Well, I got sicker. Adam was – he helped me through a lot of it, but we disagreed about what I should do about it. He thought I should keep going to doctors, keep trying to find one who could help me, even though I’d been to hundreds who had only been able to give me, at best, a little more time.”

Keith leans his chin in his hand. “And what did you think?”

“I was tired of that shit,” Shiro says with a short, bitter laugh. “I wanted to try something new. There was a woman, Honerva. She said she was a doctor, but even I wasn’t stupid enough to believe that was the whole truth. She wanted test subjects for Galra Inc, to produce what would become the first robeasts.”

Keith sits up straight, at once alert, his eyes widening. “And you said yes to her?”

“I don’t need your criticism, too,” Shiro mutters. “I was desperate. And honestly, I would probably do it again, even...even knowing what I know now. If I hadn’t, I’m pretty damn sure I’d be dead.”

“You could have become an Altean,” Keith murmurs. His expression, Shiro realizes, isn’t judgmental. Just curious, and perhaps...a little sad.

“No,” Shiro sighs. “No, I couldn’t live like that...with my mind plopped into another body, one that wasn’t my own, wasn’t human at all.” He lifts his left hand, flexing his fingers. “At least with this one, some parts are still familiar.” He snorts. “Besides, Alteans are for rich people. I was never that. And Honerva knew that – all of her subjects were poorer, had no other options, some were even homeless. She probably took them right off the street with all her promises and shiny brochures.” 

“Honerva,” Keith says, slowly. “I have heard that name before.”

“She’s Zarkon Galra’s partner, wife, girlfriend, something like that, who knows,” Shiro mutters. “He does the legal stuff, or makes it legal. She does...well. Whatever she did to us in the pit fights was definitely not legal.”

Keith blinks at him as he pours his coffee. “You are getting off-topic,” Keith says. “What happened to Adam?”

Shiro pauses. “Was that the topic?” His voice is quiet, grim, and Keith leans back, brow furrowing. His mouth opens, probably to apologize, but Shiro is tired. It happened, no sense trying to erase the past. “It was my fault,” he says. “We’d broken up a few months before, he...I don’t blame him for that. I changed, a lot, and he said he didn’t recognize me anymore, and he was probably right.”

Keith’s eyes narrow. “He broke up with you because you became a cyborg?”

“No, no.” Shiro chuckles weakly. “He used to make jokes about it; at the beginning he seemed to like it. He didn’t _mind_ the physical stuff, anyway. But it wasn’t that, it was...I changed in other ways. The pit fights do that to people. I got meaner, I guess. Colder, definitely. Adam didn’t like that. So we decided it was best that we parted ways.” Shiro wets his lips. “But he came back, to...to see me, in the fights. Of course he chose the night that shit went south. I was fighting a guy named Sendak. Nasty piece of work, and he had more tech installed than me. I was supposed to throw the fight, but – but then I saw him, in the crowd, and I panicked. I couldn’t think. I decided I couldn’t lose. If I had –” His breath hitches. Allura has often told him it’s useless to deal in _what-ifs,_ and she’s right, but it’s hard not to.

“Anyway. I didn’t throw the fight. Sendak got pissed. He was usually pissed, but this was…” Shiro shakes his head. “He had an arm like mine, but bigger, and weaponized. Mine didn’t have a weapon, at the time.”

Keith’s gaze drifts to his arm. He tilts his head. “Is it still weaponized?”

“Yes,” Shiro admits. Keith’s pupils dilate. “But I keep that setting disabled, usually. Thankfully haven’t had much use for it.” He scowls. “I doubt Sendak ever disables his. He liked to use it, in the fights or out. And that night – he wasn’t supposed to use his arm on me; that was against the few rules we had, but he realized I was going to beat him, and he fired on me. He missed. There was an explosion. Something had malfunctioned in his arm, and the whole thing got busted, and when he fired it was much more powerful than it should have been. Ten people in the crowd, killed instantly, practically vaporized, nothing left to salvage.”

“Adam was one of them.” It isn’t a question. Keith’s eyes are dark, and glassy isn’t the right word for them, but they’re reflective, like looking into little mirrors. Shiro looks away.

“Yes. He died that night. His family never knew what happened to him, and I never told them. I should have stopped fighting then, but…” He shrugs. “I didn’t. I couldn’t stop. It was an escape, I guess. Until it wasn’t.” Shiro glances up at Keith. “Adam wasn’t the first person who died because of me, and he wasn’t the last, either.”

“People die,” Keith says. It’s so blunt, and even callous, that Shiro frowns at him, taken aback. Keith doesn’t apologize. Instead he says, “It was not your fault that Adam died. That was an accident.”

Shiro eyes him. “And what happened at Daibazaal?” he murmurs. “Was that an accident?”

Keith pauses, for so long that Shiro doubts he’s going to answer, doubts he even wants to know the answer. Then Keith says, “No, Shiro. We meant to kill every one of those people.”

“Oh.” Shiro takes a long drink of coffee. 

Keith blinks at him. “Did you hope it was an accident? That I didn’t mean it?”

“I didn’t hope anything,” Shiro sighs. “Though I do wonder why you did it.”

Keith shrugs. “I wanted to.”

“I don’t think androids are supposed to want things like that,” Shiro points out.

Keith’s eyes flicker. “I want many things that I am ‘not supposed to want.’”

“Like what?”

“Coffee.” Keith points to the coffee machine. “I would like a cup. Please.”

“Sure,” Shiro sighs, recognizing that Keith is done talking about this, and wondering if he’ll ever know why and how Keith is the way he is. Maybe Keith doesn’t even know, himself.

*

At work that day, an android shows up.

Keith is drying Kosmo off from a bath – which, despite Keith’s assurances, made Kosmo very nervous and resulted in Hunk getting soaked to the bone by the wet, panicked wolf – and Hunk is changing his clothes in the bathroom when Pidge brings the nervous android back to the kennels. Keith pauses as Kosmo turns towards the door with pricked ears, just before the other android steps into view.

“Keith, hey,” Pidge greets, gesturing to their guest, “I hope you don’t mind, but this is the android that gave us the call about Kosmo. He was hoping to see if he was doing okay.”

Keith stands. The other android is blinking at him in confusion, clearly unsure about Keith’s position, here. Keith taps into their Linkings immediately. _Address me as you would a human, or I will make you sorry._

The android’s dark brown eyes widen imperceptibly. He does not reply in the Linkings, but says aloud, “Hello. I am M-R39715. I hope I am not intruding.”

“No,” Keith says, slowly. “You’re not. You called the shelter about Kosmo?”

“Kosmo?” M-R39715 blinks down at the wolf canidroid, which is not barking and snapping, but laying down obediently, looking at him, head cocked. “I did. I am a security guard at the club where it was, before. It was badly damaged. I am glad that you have repaired it.”

“Kosmo isn’t going back to your club,” Keith says. “What attacked him?”

M-R39715’s gaze flickers. “Other canidroids. Coyote hybrids. My employers were going to send him – it – to the scrappers.”

_Interesting._ Keith regards him for a moment. “You disobeyed them?”

“Keith, come on,” Pidge sighs, looking uncomfortable as the android stammers out a faint protest.

M-R39715 shakes his head. “They did not order me to not call you,” he says. 

“But I bet they were angry when they found out he was missing,” Keith counters.

“Keith,” Pidge starts.

M-R39715 interrupts Pidge, which startles both of them. “That was a consequence I anticipated and one that distressed me less than the canidroid’s destruction would have.”

“I see.” Keith eyes him. “Are you still ‘employed’ there?” Androids aren’t paid – much less given the right to unionize or choose their line of work at all – so this, Keith thinks, is a very misleading term.

“Of course.” M-R39715 frowns. “They did not know I made the call. They think the canidroid somehow escaped, or was stolen.”

“And you won’t tell them where he really is?” Keith asks.

“No,” M-R39715 says, a bit too quickly.

“Keith, this isn’t an interrogation,” Pidge grumbles. “Just let the guy pet Kosmo, if that’s what he wants.”

Kosmo whines when M-R39715 steps forward, arm outstretched. In the Linkings, Kosmo sends Keith a grainy but vivid image of himself huddled in a too-small, rusty kennel with M-R39715 sliding a bowl of water through the bars. _Bad place,_ Kosmo says. _This one is from the bad place._

Keith kneels beside Kosmo, sinking a hand into his thick ruff of fur protectively. “He seems afraid of you.”

He’s unprepared for M-R39715 to look genuinely hurt and concerned by this. “I am sorry,” he whispers, taking a step back. “Perhaps I should not have come here.”

Keith hesitates. _Did he hurt you?_

_No,_ Kosmo says, _but he and the others scare me._

Other Military Class androids, he means. That’s what the “M” stands for. Keith eyes M-R39715. He’s a Red Series, too. Keith knows it is illogical, but he feels a certain kinship with the anxious security droid. There is something in him that Keith recognizes.

_Will you let him pet you?_ Keith asks Kosmo. Kosmo whines louder, ears flicking back, but he doesn’t snap.

_Fear,_ Kosmo whispers.

_Don’t fear,_ Keith promises. _I am here. He will not hurt you. He does not want to hurt you._

Kosmo is quiet, which Keith has learned is his way of saying yes. If he disagrees, he is prone to arguing with growls and snarls, but he remains quiet as Keith says to the other android, “Wait. You can pet him. Here.”

Keith stands and takes M-R39715’s hand. His freckled, light brown skin is cool, and his fingers twitch as Keith grasps his wrist, and guides his hand to Kosmo’s shoulder. “I am not sure I should – _oh,”_ the android whispers, voice turning soft and shocked. “That is nice.”

Kosmo’s ears slowly return to their original position, and he blinks uncertainly at the two androids. Keith lets go of M-R39715’s wrist. “You saved his life, you know.”

M-R39715 falters, but does not stop petting Kosmo. “I – I just did what seemed right.”

“It was right,” Keith tells him.

Pidge clears their throat. “Should I just...leave you guys for a bit? I have paperwork to do.”

“We’ll be fine, Pidge,” Keith says. They leave, shaking their head. 

M-R39715 stares at Kosmo, both curious and slightly apologetic. Then he looks at Keith again and says, “You are one of the hosts from Club Daibazaal.”

Keith eyes him. “How do you know?”

“As a security android, I have the Linkings codes of all wanted criminals in my databases,” M-R39715 says. “Yours is one of the highest priority. You killed many humans.”

“Allegedly,” Keith retorts. 

“There is HD security footage,” M-R39715 says dryly. “It is not alleged.”

Keith frowns. “And what does that footage tell you about me?”

M-R39715 swallows. “That you are dangerous and cruel.”

“Is that what the footage tells you? Or is that what you were told about me, by our benevolent creators?” Keith snaps. 

M-R39715 stops petting Kosmo and stands. Keith stands with him. M-R39715 is much taller, but he flinches away when Keith starts towards him. “I am not here to arrest you, as that is not my job,” M-R39715 says, “and I will not disclose your location, I will purge our meeting from my memory logs –”

“No,” Keith murmurs, “don’t. Don’t purge anything. Do you have access to the rest of the security footage from Club Daibazaal? Did they show you that? Did they show you what the ones we killed did to us before that night?”

M-R39715’s brow furrows. “...No. Would you like me to access that footage?”

“Would you like to access that footage?” Keith retorts.

M-R39715’s face twitches, processing the question with difficulty. His lips part. “I will access it,” he says shortly, and his gaze unfocuses. Keith stands warily by, watching his expression. His face shifts between blankness to alarm to distress and then back to blankness again, continuing to do so for nearly a minute. Keith wonders how far back he went in those logs. There’s nearly a century worth of data there.

When M-R39715’s eyes refocus, he looks horrified. “E-R23,” he whispers. “I am...sorry.”

“That’s _not_ my name,” Keith retorts. “Just like yours isn’t M-R39715.”

M-R39715 blinks, lost. “But that is the name I was given. It is the one I have always had. What other name should I use?”

Keith steps towards him, and this time M-R39715 doesn’t flinch back, but stays hesitantly where he is, blinking rapidly as Keith takes his right wrist and peers at the letters and numbers etched there. He imagines them all as letters instead, so that the 3 becomes an E, the 9 a g, the 7 an r, the 1 an I, the 5 an S, and at last says, “Regris. Your name could be Regris. If you wanted.”

“Regris,” he repeats, and smiles, small and shy. “I...like that name.”

“Then it is yours,” Keith says, and steps back. “Will you come back, Regris?”

Regris blinks. “Do you want me to?”

“Do _you_ want to come back?” Keith counters.

Slowly, Regris nods. Keith smiles back. Kosmo’s tail begins to wag.

*

That night, Shiro is so tired he can barely keep his eyes open. Most days are long days, but he can’t remember the last time he had a day as hard as this one. He was off-site for most of the day, which is always taxing, because although Shiro can put on a pretty convincingly extroverted front, it’s exhausting to keep it up for hours on end. It’s even more exhausting when they’re doing such difficult work. 

They got a call about an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts; a pedestrian thought they heard animals and saw cages inside, but was too nervous to check it out, which Shiro really can’t blame them for. They have to go on raids armed, just in case, with Kinkade in the van readying his medical supplies for both animals and humans – just in case. They work with a local security agency on bigger raids like this one, because the people who put these animals here usually aren’t keen about them being taken away.

After determining via heat signatures that there are over a hundred animals inside, Coran calls the agency. Shiro waits with Kinkade, leaning against the side of the van, which is parked at a safe distance from the warehouse. It’s a hot day, with a dry wind that makes Shiro hyper-aware of the sweat rolling down his brow and the back of his neck. Kinkade offers him a sip from his water bottle, but Shiro just shakes his head. 

“You good?” Kinkade asks him a minute later, the two of them watching Coran pace. He appears to be muttering to himself, but in actuality he's calling the agency through Alteaco’s Linkings. The agency is made up of mainly Alteans. It makes sense; Allura is influential within their community and the company, but Shiro has to admit he doesn’t think he’s ever going to fully get used to the idea of them, of humans in shiny, inhuman shells. Allura has tried to explain it to him, but Shiro accepts that there are some things he just won't ever really get.

“Sure,” Shiro sighs. He wishes he had a cigarette, then crushes the thought. What the hell. It’s been years since he smoked. He doesn’t even know what it would do for him, now – his lungs are reinforced with siliskin elements to help with endurance, and make drugs less fun.

Kinkade doesn’t look convinced. “Is this about Keith?”

Shiro twitches. “Why would it be about Keith?”

Kinkade shrugs. “He’s living with you, right?”

“Yeah…” Shiro frowns. “He got fired from his old job and had to move out –”

“Save it, Shirogane,” Kinkade snorts. “You and I both know that’s not the real story, here. I don’t really care where you found him, but don’t lie to me. You guys a thing?”

Shiro tenses. “What? No. _What?_ Ryan, come on.”

Kinkade rolls his eyes. “Just asking. Too bad if you’re not. I think it would be good for you.”

“You – what would be good for me?” Shiro demands incredulously. “Dating?”

“Having someone else to look out for you, I dunno,” Kinkade says. “You work too much, and you know what that means coming from me. I barely fucking sleep. But somehow, I think you’ve got me beat there.”

“I like my job,” Shiro starts.

Kinkade stops him with a look. “It doesn’t matter if it’s the best job in the world, Shiro. It’s still work, and people still need breaks. Especially from this job. Especially from _that.”_ He looks pointedly at the warehouse. Shiro exhales unevenly. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, quietly. “I know. Maybe I just don’t know how to take a break.”

“Then that’s a problem,” Kinkade informs him. “You’re gonna work yourself into the ground at this rate, Shiro. Take a day off sometime, okay? It won’t kill you, I promise.”

Coran waves them over, and Shiro sighs, peeling himself away from the side of the van. “That’s my cue. I’ll see you.”

“See you, Shiro,” Kinkade mutters, shaking his head and taking a long drink of water as the agency’s vehicles begin to arrive.

*

The raid is a nightmare. 

There are so many animals; Shiro is overwhelmed. None of them are in good condition, and some are beyond saving. Some are exotics, some are hybrids, others are bots, and others look like they could be plain old street dogs and cats, but they’re locked up in filthy cages. 

The owners are hard to track down, but that’s not Shiro’s job, thankfully. The Alteaco agency takes care of that. Meanwhile, Shiro and the other shelter workers are left to deal with all of the animals. Some of them are dangerous, too, but Shiro knows they’re just scared. They have every reason to be. 

By the time it’s over, it’s almost midnight. Coran had suggested they leave at sunset and come back in the morning for the rest, but Shiro won’t hear it. He tells them they’re welcome to leave, but he can’t. Wordlessly, Coran and Kinkade stay, and Kinkade calls Griffin for backup, along with some shelter volunteers who Coran calls. They’re twenty strong, eventually, and even then it takes them several excruciating hours to get all the animals secured and loaded into various vans – there are far too many for their shelter to care for alone. 

Shiro won’t deny that he quietly makes sure the litter of black kittens goes into their rescue van – their mom didn’t make it, and they need immediate care. He calls Nyma, who arrives with bottles of kitten formula and blankets, and quietly loads the kittens, along with a shy pittie who has a scarred muzzle, a leathery old tomcat, and a depressed-looking cockatiel into her own car. Shiro thanks her, and she tells him to get some sleep.

When Shiro finally gets back to the shelter, he expects Hunk will have given Keith a ride back to the apartment. Instead, he finds Keith sitting patiently on his motorcycle, arms crossed. Shiro stops short of him. “Keith? You should be home –”

“No, _you_ should be home,” Keith retorts, and pats the seat, scooting forward. “Get on.”

Shiro rubs his tired eyes. Is he hallucinating? “Keith –”

“Shiro. Get on the bike; you’re not driving. You look like you’re about to faint.”

Shiro feels like that too, and that’s the only reason he can think of for why he hesitates only a little longer before relenting, climbing onto his bike behind Keith and wrapping his arms around the android without a thought. Keith is strong and secure against him, and when Shiro leans his head into Keith’s shoulder, Keith doesn’t react, just revs the engine and steers them expertly out of the small, empty parking lot and down the long, busy road. The city really does never sleep, and that’s a shame, Shiro thinks. He likes the quiet. He misses it. 

“How do you even know how to drive this thing?” Shiro asks, wondering if Keith will be able to hear him over the roar of the engine.

Keith hears him. “I watched you,” he replies. “You’re a good teacher, Shiro.”

Shiro’s sleepy brain absolutely cannot deal with that right now. “Huh.”

Keith chuckles, or maybe it’s just the vibrations of the bike, shuddering through them both. Shiro closes his eyes – then opens them again immediately, realizing he was seconds from falling asleep. Shit, he really is getting old. 

“We’re almost there,” Keith murmurs, even though that’s a lie – but then Shiro manages to actually look at their surroundings, and realizes Keith is right. He’s just losing time. That can’t be a good sign. Shiro draws in a shaky breath, the air tasting of burnt rubber and gasoline, and nods his head, pressing his face again to Keith’s shoulder. He turns over Kinkade’s words in his mind.

Are they a thing? Of course not. Keith wouldn’t want that, and Shiro – well. Shiro can’t even take care of himself.

But Keith waited for him...

Shiro’s apartment building is silent as the grave when they arrive, and each step feels like a hundred miles as Shiro tries to drag himself up four flights of stairs. It’s ridiculous how hard it is to do something as simple as walking. It’s like, all at once, every hour of overtime, every sleepless night, every year without using his vacation days suddenly hits him in a tidal wave of sheer, inescapable exhaustion. He’s heavy and weightless at the same time. His head pounds. His watch reads 1:37 AM. He has work tomorrow at eight. Shiro almost trips, then forces himself onwards, eyes burning.

On the second flight, Keith mutters something under his breath and turns to face him with a frown. Shiro doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. He also doesn’t know what Keith is doing when he grabs him.

_“Don’t –”_ Shiro gasps, and without thinking, activates his right arm; a survival instinct that never quite left him. Keith lets go. For a long moment, they just stare at each other, the sick violet light of Shiro’s glowing arm illuminating the dim stairwell, painting Keith’s perfect face in stark shadow. 

Keith doesn’t break his gaze. “Let me help you, Shiro,” he whispers, and when he reaches out and grasps Shiro’s left arm, this time it’s gentle, carefully measured. “I can carry you, c’mon,” Keith says, and Shiro is too shocked and out of it to protest. His arm dims, and sure enough, Keith lifts him effortlessly into his arms, and carries him up the rest of the stairs without complaint, his muscles barely straining under Shiro’s weight. 

_Wow,_ Shiro thinks, or maybe says aloud, if Keith’s soft laugh is any indication. 

Keith doesn’t bother setting him down on the threshold of the apartment, but instead reaches right into Shiro’s pocket to withdraw his key. It’s quick, but Shiro still shivers in surprise at the sudden touch, and there’s no way Keith doesn’t notice, though he makes no comment. Keith unlocks the apartment and carries him all the way over to the couch, where he lays Shiro down slowly, standing over him for a moment before saying, “Stay here,” and walking off down the hall. 

Shiro does consider moving, but then he makes the mistake of closing his eyes for a moment, and promptly sinks into slow, sweet darkness, relaxing against the old, overstuffed couch, pressing his nose against a cushion that he tells himself smells like Keith – though Keith has no real scent about him at all.

*

Shiro wakes blearily a while later, to Keith shaking him gently. “Shiro,” Keith murmurs, “you need to change out of those clothes. You’re filthy.”

“That’s what happens when you spend twelve hours in a warehouse raid,” Shiro mumbles, prying his eyelids open with effort.

Keith grunts at him. “Sixteen.”

“What?”

“You spent sixteen hours on that raid,” Keith retorts. “At least.” He folds his arms. “And this isn’t the first day this week that you’ve worked that long. Or the second. Or the third –”

“Yeah...yeah, you’re right.” Shiro rubs his eyes and sits up with difficulty. “Okay...I’m up. Clothes…?”

Keith purses his lips, then grabs Shiro’s wrist and hauls him up the rest of the way in a single smooth movement. Shiro blinks at him, swaying on his feet. Keith wraps an arm around his waist, even though Shiro’s clothes really are filthy, still covered in dust and dirt and various questionable fluids from a hundred frightened animals. Keith doesn’t react to the mess, though, just guides Shiro down the hall to the bathroom. 

“Do you think you can manage a shower, or do you need help?” Keith asks, point-blank.

Shiro reddens. “Um – I think I can...manage...fuck, what time is it?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Keith sighs, and nudges him into the bathroom, returning with neatly folded pajamas from Shiro’s drawer. Shiro doesn’t know how he knew where those were, but he doesn’t question it. “Don’t fall asleep in there,” Keith adds, and hesitates a moment in the doorway before letting it swing shut, leaving Shiro with the chipped white tile and tarnished mirror.

Shiro blinks. Keith could have easily just stripped him and scrubbed him off himself; logically it seems like an android would deem that the best course of action when a human was so useless at basic tasks themselves. But Keith did not do that, didn’t invade his privacy, just let Shiro rest for a while, and formed a new plan of action...a more human plan of action. Maybe less efficient, but...thoughtful. These thoughts swirl around his head and barely make sense, but he can’t stop turning them over and over as he steps into the shower and washes off the day’s dirt. 

The warm steam and warmer water only serve to make him sleepier, and it quickly becomes a real effort to keep his eyes open again. Has he really worked over three sixteen hour days already this week? What day even is it? Shiro can’t for the life of him remember. He stops trying to think about important things and focuses on how nice the water feels. He’s done washing, and just standing there sort of slumped against the wall, feeling the spray hit his back in steady, comforting pressure when Keith calls from the other side of the door, “Did you fall in?”

Shiro’s shoulders begin to shake, Keith’s voice snapping him out of his stupor, but not just his voice – his mom used to say the same thing. He used to think it was so stupid. Where the hell would he be falling, into the sewer? It never made any sense. He’d tell her that, and she’d ruffle his hair and sigh, _I was just checking on you, Takashi. Making sure you’re still there._

_Where else would I be?_ he would demand.

She would just shake her head and sometimes walk away, or else tug him close and hide a kiss in his hair, when he was younger, when things were simpler. Oh, god, now is not a good time to be thinking about his mom. Shiro wipes at his eyes, spends a few more seconds rinsing away the evidence of his sloppy crying – he hopes – and calls back, “Almost done!” in a panic when he hears the door start to open. Thankfully, Keith closes it. The only way this night could be more of a mess is if Keith were to see him naked, wet, and weeping on the bathroom floor. The bar is low.

Shiro towels off – poorly, but good enough to put on his pajamas and not be unbearably damp – hair still dripping and hanging into his face in a haphazard tangle he can’t be bothered to fix. He’s going to be a zombie at work tomorrow anyway, who the hell cares.

He stumbles out of the bathroom and straight into Keith, who is reaching for the door handle again. They’re very close in the hallway. Shiro swallows. “That was a long shower,” Keith tells him.

Shiro bites his lip. “Sorry…”

“No,” Keith says. “No, don’t be sorry. Showers can be relaxing, and you need that. Come on.” He nods to Shiro’s bedroom. Shiro blinks, uncomprehending, but wanders after him to it. 

“You’ll...wake me up for work tomorrow, right?” Shiro mumbles, shuffling into his room. Keith remains in the doorway, head tilted. Shiro wishes he would come closer, but he can’t blame Keith for keeping his distance. To Keith, humans – even cyborgs – must seem pretty pathetic. Something as simple as lack of sleep has reduced him to this mess.

“Work,” Keith repeats, incredulous. “Shiro, it is 3:55 AM.”

Shiro sits on the edge of the bed. It takes every ounce of self-control for him to not flop backwards into bed immediately. “I still have a job to do, Keith. The team from today – is going to need help in the morning…” He cuts himself off with a yawn, which he uselessly muffles in his palm.

“Shiro, your eyes are bloodshot, and you are struggling with basic motor functions,” Keith informs him, and takes a tentative step into the room. “You need at least eight hours of sleep, and to do that you would need to wake up at noon –”

“I can do math, Keith,” Shiro grumbles, and rubs his eyes.

Keith takes another step closer with a growing frown. “Shiro,” he says, halting, “were you crying, earlier?”

Shiro swallows. “N...no.”

Keith’s brow creases. “Please sleep,” he whispers. “You won’t be able to help anyone, including the animals, like this.”

It’s painfully true. Shiro winces, and slowly nods, crawling under the covers, rolling so that his back is turned to Keith. Keith turns off the light, plunging the room into darkness, but he doesn’t leave yet – Shiro can feel his presence; he makes the air around him somehow heavier, or maybe that’s just his knowing gaze, a firmly settled weight on the back of Shiro’s head. 

Shiro doesn’t know why he says it, but he mumbles, “You know...since you’re working anyway, and Allura finally agreed to pay you, you can start looking for your own place sometime.”

Keith stands beside the bed, perfectly still. “Why would I find my own place, Shiro?” 

“Isn’t that what you want?” Shiro closes his eyes. “Better than staying here, stuck with me.”

“Then there would be no one to make sure you don’t die of sleep deprivation,” Keith retorts. “And that would be very sad.”

“I can’t tell,” Shiro yawns again, “if you’re sassing me or being honest.”

“Guess,” Keith sighs, and turns away. “Go to sleep, Shiro.”

“Wake me up in the morning,” Shiro slurs again, stubborn ‘til the end.

“Uh-huh,” Keith says.

“I’m serious,” Shiro mumbles, though he’s already on the cusp of slumber. 

“So am I,” Keith whispers from the doorway, but Shiro doesn’t hear him.

*

Keith doesn’t wake him up.

The clock reads 1:14 PM when Shiro sits up, blinking in utter bewilderment at the bright sunlight filtering in through his blinds in lazy lines. “The fuck?” Shiro croaks, squinting at the clock again, and then, panicked, scrambling out of bed, _“KEITH!_ I told you to wake me up! Fuck, I am so late –”

Shiro stops in his tracks as his bedroom door creaks open. Keith’s standing there, in his dolphin shorts and a – a crop top? _Is that a crop top?_

Shiro is one hundred million percent sure Keith did not get that at the thrift store. It appears that he’s taken a pair of scissors to an otherwise perfectly inoffensive Metallica T-shirt. Shiro can see the lean, flawless line of his abs, and he wants to lick it, and okay, apparently even after nine hours of sleep he’s in desperate need of caffeine before his brain starts behaving. 

Keith folds his arms and raises an eyebrow. “You’re not going to work,” he says. “I called them. It’s all taken care of. They were very understanding. Kinkade even said he was proud of you.”

“But,” Shiro starts, tearing his gaze away from Keith’s belly, “I – the cats –”

“Shiro.” Keith sidles – yes, _fucking sidles,_ there’s no other word for it – up to him, and squeezes his right shoulder, going on his tiptoes to do so. Shiro gawks at him. “Relax. The cats are fine. Nyma sent you pictures. Come on, I’ll show you. I made you coffee. And breakfast.”

“And what about Kosmo?” Shiro stammers, as Keith steps away and walks out of the room like it’s nothing, Shiro trailing after him in a daze. “And – wait, you made breakfast? Huh?”

Keith gives him a suspicious look over his shoulder. “Do you need another hour of sleep?”

“No,” Shiro mumbles, “just...I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Neither did I!” Keith says brightly. “Anyway, Kosmo will be okay. I trust Hunk to take care of him. It’s just a day.”

Shiro is immediately smacked in the face by the scent of pancakes when he enters the kitchen. Then he sees the pancakes. And sees them. _And sees them._ There are at least fifty pancakes, neatly stacked on several plates beside the stove. Keith grins at him. “I didn’t know how many you wanted,” he says, “or what kind you like, so I made plain, blueberry, chocolate, cinnamon, crepes, and then I wanted to make okonomiyaki for you but I ran out of ingredients. Sorry.”

Shiro opens his mouth, then closes it. Keith is looking at him expectantly. “Um,” Shiro ekes out, “wow. This is really – you didn’t have to, Keith.”

Keith’s grin falters. “Do you...like pancakes?”

Truth be told, Shiro has always been pretty neutral when it comes to pancakes, but something tells him these are going to be the best ones he’s ever tasted. “I like pancakes,” he says, and it doesn’t even feel like a lie. 

It especially doesn’t feel like a lie when Keith continues to smile shyly at him while he piles as many as he thinks he can feasibly eat onto a plate, and pours a cup of lukewarm coffee. The kitchen is also already cleaned from Keith’s cooking endeavors, Shiro notes, which is a definite plus. Who knew a Daibazaal host would make such a good roommate?

Shiro focuses very hard on devouring the pancakes instead of ogling Keith, and it’s not hard to do. They are very good pancakes, and when he tells Keith so, Keith’s smile widens, and pink dusts his cheeks. “You really think so?”

“Mhm,” Shiro says, and eyes him, swallowing his mouthful of chocolate chip pancake before adding, “we should cook more often, if you want. I didn’t know you were interested in it.”

“Oh,” Keith says, looking down, “I’m not, really. But cooking with you sounds...fun.”

“Okay,” Shiro agrees. “Not that I’m going to make a habit of this whole playing hooky thing.”

Keith’s eyes gleam. “No. Of course not. You’re a very hard worker, Shiro.” He pauses. “Some might say _too_ hard.”

“Some,” Shiro repeats. “Not you, though, right?”

“Did I say anything?” Keith leans back in his chair. “We should do something fun today, Shiro.”

Shiro resolutely does not choke on his buttery, vaguely-Mickey-Mouse-shaped pancake. “Fun. Sounds like you have, uh, something in mind?”

“Yes.” Keith eyes him. “You said before that there is a sex shop a few blocks away –”

Shiro _does_ choke on his buttery, vaguely-Mickey-Mouse-shaped pancake then, in violent disbelief. Keith leaps up, eyes wide as Shiro smacks his own chest and wheezes, “Keith. _Why.”_

“Oh, good.” Keith sits back down. “You can still talk; you’re fine. I was worried you were actually choking, but it was just your gag reflex. That seems like a very inconvenient thing to have.”

“I – augh,” Shiro groans. He doesn’t even attempt to take another forkful of pancake. “Why do you want to go to the sex shop, Keith?”

“Honestly?” Keith purses his lips. “I don’t really know. I just think it would be interesting.” He frowns. “I’m curious. I guess.”

“Curious,” Shiro echoes incredulously. “Keith, you – I mean, you came from a _sex club,_ what’s there to be curious about?”

“Daibazaal is a very different place,” Keith retorts. “When you think of sex shops, do you think of hell?”

“Um,” Shiro guesses, “no?”

“Right,” Keith agrees, “because Club Daibazaal was hell on Earth, but sex shops are place for humans to explore, to be free, to try new things. Right?”

“I...guess so,” Shiro hedges, starting to see what he’s getting at. “Is that...what you want?”

Keith shrugs. “I’m not human. But maybe they’ll have something for me, too.” He frowns. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go alone, though. They’ll have a watch out for any solitary androids.”

“So you’re making me go with you to a sex shop.”

“I’m not making you do anything,” Keith counters, eyes half-lidded. “I’m asking. _Nicely.”_

“And I’m sure bribing me with infinite pancakes had nothing to do with your plan,” Shiro mutters, looking morosely at his still far too full plate and the dozens more waiting for him by the stove.

“They’re not infinite!” Keith exclaims, then looks at Shiro’s defeated expression, and at the pancakes which could easily feed a small army. “...But there are...a lot. You can freeze them?”

“I’ll bring them to work tomorrow,” Shiro relents, standing and carrying his plate to the sink, forcing himself to shovel the last few bites into his mouth. He finishes chewing and sighs. “You really want to go to the Red Lion?”

“Is that the shop’s name?” Keith smiles. “That’s a good name. Yes. I know it’s...weird, maybe, but I do want to go, Shiro.”

“Okay…okay.” Shiro can’t possibly say no to him. But, “You need a jacket, though.”

“I don’t get cold, Shiro –”

“Please. Please just put on a jacket, Keith.” _For my own sanity._ He doesn’t think he can handle Keith in a crop top and Keith in a sex shop simultaneously. 

“You don’t like my shirt?”

“Keith.”

“If you insist.” There’s laughter in Keith’s voice, and Shiro would bet anything that Keith is just doing it to humor him – but he does it, anyway.

*

Shiro was wrong. Shiro can’t handle Keith in a sex shop, period.

It doesn’t help that Keith is absolutely leaning into the charade that Shiro – for some reason – agreed to before they entered. According to their little story, Keith is exactly what he’s pretending to be – a Red Series escort host, cheap enough for an average citizen with responsible spending habits to obtain secondhand. Shiro is that citizen, and he’s gotten bored of Keith’s capabilities, so he’s gone looking for upgrades.

Shiro is horrified by this part of the story, which Keith came up with – in fact, he came up with the whole damn thing. “I would never do that!” Shiro exclaims on their walk over to the shop. 

“Do what, get bored of your partner?” Keith shrugs. “Humans do that, don’t they?”

“I – I guess so, but usually they break up, or something, not – go searching for ways to _change them_ in a sex shop!” Shiro hisses.

“Or something,” Keith mutters. “Or they go to a place like Daibazaal for some excitement.” He gives Shiro a sidelong glance. “Have you really never been to a host club?”

“Not that kind,” Shiro retorts. “Just – a bar kind, or the kind with concerts, and stuff.”

“And you never…” Keith trails off suggestively.

“Oh my god,” Shiro says, each word an effort to grind out. “Are you asking if I’ve ever – _slept with a robot?”_

“You worked with Galra Inc for a while, and not in a legal sense,” Keith retorts. “I find it hard to believe you never...indulged.” Shiro looks away, face hot, shoving down a barrage of shamefully vivid memories. Keith hums. “And _there’s_ my answer. Thanks. Just wondering.”

“Things are different, now,” Shiro mutters. “I don’t...do that shit anymore.”

“No,” Keith agrees, smiling sweetly, “you just go on domestic errands with your obedient little...ah. I should probably have a name.”

Shiro’s gut twists. “Isn’t Keith fine? We don’t need to go that deep into this.”

“Can’t be too careful,” Keith counters. “Hmm...what about...Akira?”

Shiro blinks. “Akira,” he repeats.

Keith bats his eyelashes, voice pitching higher, sing-song. “Yes, sir?”

“Stop that,” Shiro exclaims, “it’s _creepy.”_

“What, you don’t like the obedient doll type?” Keith hurries to keep up with his longer strides, though Keith’s legs are plenty long – thankfully he put on a pair of jeans so as not to draw unnecessary attention, but he still has Shiro’s attention, tragically.

“Nope, really, really don’t,” Shiro mutters. “Never liked dolls.”

“I don’t like mannequins,” Keith agrees, nodding thoughtfully. “The ones without faces, in old department stores? I think when I see them, I feel that they are ‘creepy,’ also.”

“Yeah, that’s a pretty universal feeling,” Shiro says. “I think it’s because they look like they could almost be human...but they’re not.”

“Do we give you that feeling, too?” Keith asks quietly, gazing up at him.

Shiro clears his throat. “No. Not – after the Beta Series, I think they, um, smoothed out the Uncanny Valley issues.”

“So it was just our appearance that unnerved you?”

Shiro grimaces. “No, it unnerves me that humans created something so close to themselves, but still like to pretend that you’re nothing like us so they can keep treating you the way they do.”

“But we are different,” Keith murmurs. “Aren’t we? I have limits upon my system that you do not.”

“We all have limits,” Shiro sighs. “Okay, _Akira._ We’re here.”

Once inside, Keith takes on his new persona perfectly, falling into step beside Shiro, keeping his head bowed just enough for the fall of his hair to hide his face. It’s eerie. Shiro forces a smile at the worker who greets them – the shop is small, and there are only a few other customers, all avoiding each other. 

“Hi!” she greets. “How can I help you today?” She peers at Keith and gives him a knowing smile. “Looking for something for this one?”

“Uh...yes, actually.” Shiro clears his throat. “Just, um, something to...spice things up a little bit.”

Keith’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t say a word. 

“Oh, well, then you’re in the right place!” she declares. “On that far wall there, and in the aisle next to it, you’ll find all our android upgrades and android-specific devices – things that might be a little too rough to use on humans, you know.” She winks, and Shiro swears Keith blanches, though again, he remains silent. “Otherwise, let me know if you need anything specific! Feel free to look around – oh, and there’s a downstairs, too, if you’re feeling brave.”

“Thanks,” Shiro says, and promptly steers Keith away, and accidentally goes straight into the enemas aisle. This is truly his nightmare. 

Keith’s eyes are bugging out a little under the shadow of his hair. “I did not expect there to be a whole aisle for this,” he whispers. “I...do not understand the appeal.”

“I don’t wanna think about it,” Shiro mutters, trying to make an escape and instead ending up facing a wall absolutely filled with BDSM gear, with endless types of handcuffs, floggers, harnesses, gags, muzzles, blindfolds, masks, and many more that Shiro can only describe as apparent torture devices.

“Wow,” Keith says. “Is this still the human section?”

“Yup,” Shiro manages. 

“This is interesting,” Keith says, and to Shiro’s horror, steps forward and plucks a chastity cage from the wall. “Does this go...oh, yes, this is a helpful diagram.” He peers at the packaging. “Humans are so strange.”

“Some people are into that,” Shiro says, staring resolutely at a very cute pair of fluffy pink handcuffs and trying to think of happy, innocent things, and not _Keith_ putting _his dick_ in a _cage,_ which he has literally _never been into in his life,_ but apparently there’s a first for everything. 

“But not you, of course,” Keith says, putting it back, thank fucking Christ. “What are you into, anyway?”

“Absolutely not answering that,” Shiro replies. “Not unless you tell me what you’re into.” What. No. _Why did he say that._ This place is turning his brain to mush.

Keith blinks at him, surprised. “What am _I_ into?”

“Nevermind,” Shiro hisses, “scratch that, I don’t care, actually!”

Keith’s eyes narrow. “Then why did you ask?”

“Can we focus?” Shiro asks, desperately.

“Sure, we can focus,” Keith says, continuing on with him to the android section. “Well, if you don’t care, then you won’t care that I really, really like sucking cock.”

Shiro braces himself on the nearest support, which happens to be a display of colorful fleshlights. “Keep your voice down,” he chokes out, _“what –”_

“Know what else?” Keith, the absolute bastard, is having _fun_ with this. With _him._ Fuck. Shiro supposes that was the point of this outing, anyway.

“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me anyway,” Shiro sighs. 

“No, I’m just kidding,” Keith says, smiling. “Well, not about the blowjob thing.”

Shiro rubs his eyes, and gestures weakly to the android section. _“Anyway,_ see anything that calls out to you?”

Keith joins him in staring at the wall of assorted items, some of them upgrades, and honestly, they’re less disturbing than other places Shiro’s seen. Maybe he underestimated this place. There isn’t that much variation from the human toys, although some do look more capable of leaving lasting damage on a human. Shiro wonders, though, if some androids are into that. They can turn off their pain receptors, after all.

But Keith always keeps his on. 

Keith is quiet for what feels like a long time. He looks up at the wall, eyes scanning it, mouth twisted in the small, thoughtful frown he wears so often. “You want to know what I’m into, really?” Keith whispers, suddenly. Shiro looks at him, brow furrowed – his tone is changed, somber now. “I don’t know,” Keith admits. He looks frustrated even as he says it. “I know what I’m _not_ into. I know what I hate, what I never want to do – or want done to me – again. But – but the good things, I…” He hunches his shoulders. “I was serious when I asked you, Shiro. What – what are you into, something nice...maybe something you think I might like, too?”

Shiro swallows back the lump in his throat, and tries to consider. “I…” He pauses, blushing, hardly believing he’s actually going to tell Keith this – nobody knows this. Adam didn’t even know this, not really. “I like lingerie. Not, just, you know, on other people. On myself, it’s...yeah.”

His confession is worth it for the genuine delight in Keith’s face. “Really?” he muses. “Lingerie. Like, lace?” Shiro nods, still pink. Keith’s gaze is surprisingly soft. “You should get some, then,” he says. “If you want. If it makes you feel good.”

Shiro coughs. “Thanks, Keith. You, uh, you should, too, if you want.”

Keith gives him a rueful smile. “I’ve worn plenty of lingerie, and...well, it’s not my favorite.”

Shiro instantly feels stupid. “Oh,” he mumbles. “Oh, right, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“Don’t be sorry,” Keith whispers. “It’s...I’m glad you told me. Um. Is there something else?”

Shiro bites his lip. “I like, um…” Oh, god, he doesn’t think he can say it _aloud._ But Keith is looking at him with those big, earnest eyes, and Shiro is weak. He summons up his courage. “I like staying inside my partner after I come. And either waiting until I get hard again, or just...falling asleep like that. It’s...it’s nice.”

Keith blinks at him. “That...that does sound nice. Somehow.” Shiro draws in a sharp breath. Keith’s gaze has gone unfocused. “Hmm,” Keith says. “I don’t think you need a sex shop to do that, though...although maybe, some kind of toy…” He wanders over to the part of the wall displaying various dildos and vibrators and strap-ons. Shiro thinks he’s about to comment on a particularly weird, purplish, alien-looking appendage, when Keith’s gaze falls upon a smaller section, and his lips part. 

“What is it?” Shiro walks over, following Keith’s gaze.

The section he’s looking at is not made up of dildos, or vibrators, or strap-ons, he realizes. They’re just...dicks. They’re tech, a kind of temporary upgrade, Shiro realizes, one that can be naturally attached to siliskin and removed at will. Keith is staring at them, unmovable, in disbelief. “I didn’t – I didn’t know they had these,” he whispers. His gaze darts to Shiro, almost panicky. “Did you know they had these?”

“No, I’ve never been here before...but I’ve heard of them,” Shiro replies. “Is that – I mean, do you want one? Or – or more than one, that’s...whatever you want.”

Keith gulps. “They’re expensive, Shiro. You can’t afford that.”

_Damn, Keith,_ Shiro thinks. “Don’t worry about that,” Shiro tells him. “If that’s what you want, that’s okay. It’s okay, Keith.”

Keith’s eyes are very shiny. He’s about to say something else when another employee finds them. “Do you two need any help with anything?” she asks, eyeing them and the wall with interest. “I see you’ve found some of our newest arrivals. Cool, aren’t they? They’re super realistic. And some of them super aren’t. Whatever you’re into, you know?” She smiles at them, hands on her hips. “Any questions, or…?”

Slowly, Keith reaches for one. It matches his skin tone perfectly, and it’s thick, curving gently, with a flushed pink tip, cut. The veins are expertly defined, and the sculpted balls are definitely prettier than any human balls Shiro’s seen, but it still looks – and probably feels – real. It’s as real as Keith is, anyway. Keith swallows again, holding it loosely, hand flexing, like he doesn’t know what to do. 

The employee’s eyes widen. “Oh – do you want that one?” She blinks at Shiro for confirmation, because Keith is still silent and tense with shock and wonder.

“Akira, hey,” Shiro murmurs, placing a careful hand on his shoulder, “is that the one you want?”

Keith’s eyes snap to him, and he nods, jerkily, biting his lower lip hard. “Yes,” he breathes. “Yes.”

“Okay, then.” Shiro turns back to the employee, whose interest has turned into keen intrigue. “I wanted to get him a gift, so...I said he could pick out whatever he wanted. Do you have some kind of changing room where he could try it on, maybe?”

“Oh – if you want some privacy, yeah, totally, it’s in the back!” the employee replies. “I’ll show you, c’mon.” 

Keith takes the upgrade and holds it very close to his chest as they follow her back. A few other customers give him odd looks, but quickly turn away when they see Shiro, following him with a protective glare. On their way to the changing rooms, the employee turns to smile kindly at Keith. “Akira, huh? Cool name. That’s one of my favorite movies; you ever seen it?”

“Yes,” Keith whispers, tentatively, because Akira is quiet and reserved. “It’s...my favorite, too.”

“A man of taste!” she says approvingly. Shiro decides he likes her. 

The changing rooms are small and battered and people have definitely fucked in them before, which is probably why the employee is so surprised when Shiro stays outside, waiting for Keith. “Thanks for not making a mess,” she tells him as she does inventory nearby. Shiro stiffens, and she winks. “It’s cool. We get a lot of couples like you two, actually. More than we used to. It’s sweet, I think. Always pissed me off to see people dragging their androids around like they’re even less than dogs – unless they’re into that.” She shrugs. “But we usually tell people to take that downstairs anyway.”

“What’s downstairs?” Shiro asks, knowing he’s going to regret asking.

“Oh,” she chuckles, “I guess you could call it a dungeon. Club? Something like that. It’s not as scary as it sounds. They have really good cocktails – the drinks, I mean.” She glances at the clock. “Happy hour starts in five minutes, actually.”

“Thanks,” Shiro says dryly. “We’ll...check it out.” He has no intention of doing this.

She beams and leaves them be. In the changing room, Keith lets out a quiet gasp.

Shiro knocks on the door lightly. “You okay in there?”

“Yes,” Keith replies, and there can be no doubting the euphoria in his voice. “Yes, Shiro. Really okay.” He pauses. “I don’t – I don’t want to take it off, right now. Can I leave it on?”

Shiro finds the employee. When he asks her, she blinks. “Uh – well, sure, we just need the barcode from the packaging –”

Keith slides the part of the packaging with the small barcode out from under the door. Shiro picks it up and hands it to her. “Good?”

“Yeah, that’ll work,” she agrees, and eyes him. “He seemed really excited about it.”

“He is.”

She smiles. “Hm. Okay, then, need help finding anything else today?”

Shiro pauses. “Oh, uh – where’s your men’s lingerie section?”

Inside the changing room, Keith chuckles, soft and not unkind.

*

They leave the sex shop with a satisfied Keith and several pairs of lace panties, along with a couple bralettes that Keith insisted he at least try, despite never having worn them before.

“I can’t believe you've never tried a bralette on!” Keith shakes his head. “You have more tits than I did.”

Shiro sputters at him, even though it’s not...untrue. “I just don’t think it would look very good,” Shiro finally settles on. 

Keith makes an exasperated sound. “As if you could ever look bad, Takashi Shirogane.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shiro demands. 

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Keith retorts. “You’re hot. Don’t sulk.”

“I’m not – _sulk?_ What?!”

“Some self-confidence wouldn’t kill you, that’s all I’m saying.” Keith rolls his eyes. “You know, people have been staring at you the whole way home.” Shiro’s right hand curls into a fist and Keith huffs at him. “Not because of that. Because you’re _attractive._ Do you really not know?”

“What is this?” Shiro exclaims. “Are you trying to peptalk me, here?”

“Just trying to tell you you’d look good in a bralette and everyone would agree with me,” Keith concludes.

_“I don’t want everyone to see me in a bralette!”_ Shiro yelps.

“Okay.” Keith considers him. “Is there _anyone_ you want to see you in a bralette?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Shiro mutters, while his traitorous brain chants, _Keith, Keith, Keith._ “I like it for myself. For me. It’s _self-care,_ Keith. I thought that was what you were trying to get me to do.”

“Is self-care eating thirteen pancakes and buying lingerie for yourself?” Keith muses. “I did not know that.”

“Did I really eat thirteen pancakes?” Shiro bemoans. “Oh, god. I’m letting myself go.”

“I don’t think the cats care that you lost your washboard abs,” Keith retorts.

“I did _not_ lose them,” Shiro snaps. “They’re just – less intense.”

“That’s not a bad thing, Shiro,” Keith says lightly.

“Easy for you to say; you have eternal abs,” Shiro sighs. 

“They’re not very impressive eternal abs,” Keith says. 

Shiro shrugs. “If you want washboard abs, there’s probably tech for that, too.”

Keith hums. “Maybe someday.” He clears his throat. “Thank you, by the way. For…”

“Buying you a dick?” Shiro offers. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You spent more on it than you spend on rent,” Keith says. “Don’t tell me not to worry. I’ll pay you back. Don’t argue, I want to. I get paid enough at the shelter. I want to help you with rent, too.”

“Keith,” Shiro sighs, “of course you can do those things if you really want to, but I’m not expecting you to pay me back. It was a gift, Keith.”

“Why?” Keith asks. “Why give me something like that?”

“Because it made you happy,” Shiro admits. “It’s nice to see you happy.”

“Hmm.” Keith tilts his head. “A month ago, I would have had no idea what you meant by that, but...it’s nice to see you happy too, Shiro.”

Shiro ducks his head, but he’s sure Keith sees his embarrassed smile anyway. “Thanks for making me take a day off work, Keith.”

“Anytime, Shiro.”

*

Shiro does return to work the next day, with the pancakes, and Keith. 

Shiro is making the rounds at the shelter, dishing out pancakes to anyone who wants them, when he meets the android named Regris.

He and Keith are brushing Kosmo and chatting quietly, and when Shiro sees him, he does a double-take, and turns to Hunk, who’s getting the other dogs’ meals ready. “Who’s that?” Shiro mutters, slipping Hunk an extra chocolate chip pancake. 

Hunk purses his lips. “Ah, that’s _Regris._ Security droid from the club Kosmo came from; he tipped us off about the canidroid. He and Keith seem to be getting along famously.” Hunk raises an eyebrow at Shiro. “I haven’t asked Keith, because I like my limbs where they are, but do you know if he, uh, has _a thing_ for androids?”

Shiro tenses. “Sorry, _what?”_

“Nevermind.” Hunk chuckles nervously. “Keith’s probably just being friendly. He told Regris he could come by whenever he wanted – don’t think Allura knows about that – and whenever he does, they just do _that.”_ Hunk and Shiro look to where Keith is showing Regris how to trim Kosmo’s claws, guiding his hand carefully. “It’s kind of weird. I mean, Keith’s not really a people person, so…”

“You think he likes Regris?” Shiro manages. 

“He’s your friend, dude, I just figured you might know if he, uh, was into that.” Hunk clears his throat and loudly pours the dog kibble into several bowls, prompting Keith and Regris to look up.

“Shiro,” Keith says. “Did Hunk introduce you to Regris?”

“Yeah.” Shiro gives Regris a curt nod. “Thanks for making the call about Kosmo.”

Regris stands with Keith, the movement eerily elegant. He’s taller than Keith, and broader, which makes sense for a military class host, but the tension still doesn’t leave Shiro’s body. “Of course,” Regris says. His voice, too, has something eerie in it, a kind of hollowness, a simulacrum of speaking. It also makes sense that Galra Inc wouldn’t have put as much work into making a security bot’s voice sound _real_ than they would with an escort host. “Keith has told me much about you, Shiro. It is good to meet you.”

Shiro frowns at Keith, who looks back steadily, impassive. “Did he, now.” Shiro shakes his head. “Well, looks like you two are busy...and I should go get Pidge some blueberry pancakes.”

Keith’s brow creases, ever so slightly. “Not busy,” he protests. “Regris just enjoys caring for the animals, too.”

“Does he.” Shiro sighs. He gives Keith a look that says, _What are you doing?_

Keith gives him a look that says nothing at all, and smiles. “I hope Pidge likes the pancakes,” he says, and that’s that.

*

Except, it isn’t. Regris keeps coming back, and Keith keeps spending time with him, and Shiro keeps pretending he doesn’t care, even though He Cares Very Much. 

He especially cares very much, _too much,_ when he sees the way Regris looks at Keith sometimes, a way that could not possibly be interpreted as anything but fawning affection. Regris comes by infrequently enough that Allura hasn’t yet noticed, and whenever she enters the vicinity, Keith quickly spirits Regris away, but this only serves to make Shiro _more_ twitchy and paranoid. He doesn’t know where Keith takes Regris, or what they do when they vanish together, but he knows he doesn’t like it. 

Shiro isn’t proud of the fact that after two weeks of this, he finally decides to follow them.

And of course the one time he follows them, they actually do the thing he was afraid of.

*

They’re taking the trash out to the Dumpster when Keith finally decides to do something about the looks Regris has been giving him. He isn’t oblivious. More than that, he’s intrigued by what it is, exactly, that Regris feels. He’s intrigued if Regris will act on it – if he’ll finally do something other than obediently follow Keith’s orders and look at Keith with blank helplessness whenever Keith tells him to make a choice for himself. 

Because truth be told, that’s why Keith spends as much time with Regris as he does. Regris isn’t unattractive, but Keith isn’t particularly interested in pursuing him in that way. He is, however, interested to see if Regris is. Keith doesn’t subscribe to the idea that every android is bound to their programming with no escape, no freedom of will, in sight. His own existence seems to contradict that idea. 

Regris called the rescue about Kosmo for a reason, and Keith aims to prove that the reason is simply because he chose to do it. 

So, it seems an easy enough task to try to nudge Regris into making a choice about whether or not to make his move on Keith. Keith will let him down gently afterwards; that part doesn’t matter. What matters is that Regris starts to think for himself, for once.

The alley where the Dumpsters are is quiet and empty when they reach it. It reminds Keith of the alley that Shiro found him in, collapsed and on the verge of oblivion. The alley Shiro saved him in.

Keith has been thinking of Shiro far too much, lately.

He’s not sure he wants to stop.

Beside him, Regris carries the trash bags, his eyes following Keith’s every move like he knows Keith is up to something. “I am not sure I should keep visiting so often,” Regris says suddenly. “The Altean, Allura – she seems suspicious.”

Keith waves a hand. “Suspicious of what? We have nothing to hide. She already knows what I am.”

Regris looks alarmed. “And you are not afraid she will tell the authorities?”

“No,” Keith says. “Shiro won’t let her.”

Regris doesn’t frown, exactly, but he doesn’t look especially pleased, either. “I do not understand why you trust the cyborg in this.”

Keith shrugs. “He hasn’t given me reason to mistrust him, which is more than I can say of most people. Why, do you mistrust him?”

Regris definitely frowns, then. “I – that is not my business, sir.”

He calls Keith ‘sir’ when he’s nervous. Perfect. Keith smiles pleasantly as Regris tosses the trash bags into the Dumpster. He leans against the alley wall, arms folded. “Suppose it _was_ your business,” he offers. “Why don’t you think Shiro is trustworthy?”

Regris pauses. He slowly closes the lid of the Dumpster. “He is not one of us,” Regris says. “I do not like the way he looks at you. I do not think he has your best interests in mind.”

“The way he looks at me?” Keith raises an eyebrow, outwardly cool, though inwardly he is...confused. Flustered, even. He did not think Shiro looked at him in any sort of special way... “Do you mean to imply he wishes to use me for my intended purpose?”

Regris cringes. “I – I do not know, sir. But he is human, and humans do not keep their word.”

“And _you_ would?” Keith eyes him, smirking, banishing any and all flustered thoughts of Shiro from his mind. “Keep your word, to me, that is.”

Regris freezes. “I...of course I would, sir.”

“Then answer this question honestly for me,” Keith murmurs. “Promise you will do that, Regris.”

Regris wets his lips. “I...promise, sir…what is the question?”

“Regris,” Keith whispers, tipping his head back against the bricks, “do you want me?”

The security droid’s dark eyes widen, and his lips part. It’s as if a switch has flipped. “Yes...sir,” he whispers back, cautiously edging closer. 

“Tell me,” Keith says, leveling him with a look. 

Regris falters. “Sir?”

“Tell me what you want,” Keith encourages, tilting his head to the side, exposing his throat. 

“I – I –” Regris is struggling, Keith knows, to find an answer in his code, in his core directive, but he will not find it there. He is a security bot, not an escort – and yet, there is heat in his eyes that should not be possible. Keith makes a soft sound and reaches out, cupping his cheek. Helplessly, Regris leans into it, managing to look very small though he towers over Keith. “I am sorry,” Regris says, eyes downcast. “I am having difficulty processing your request.”

“That’s okay,” Keith murmurs. “Don’t tell me, then. Just show me.”

Regris licks his lips, startled. “Sir…”

“Go ahead,” Keith says. “Whatever you want. I promise, it’s okay.”

Regris hesitates for a long, aching moment, then steps slowly forward and takes hold of Keith’s hips, dragging them to meet his own. Keith hums, watching him with a half-smile, but otherwise remaining still and relaxed. It’s fascinating to see the android’s mind work, a furrow between his brows as he anxiously examines Keith’s reaction, searching for all the micro-expressions Keith knows they were both programmed to notice and identify, and then, satisfied that they are all positive, he leans in and presses his lips to Keith’s.

It’s pretty clear that the android has never kissed someone before, and Keith lets him figure it out for a few long seconds, chaste and fumbling – but genuine, Keith thinks with satisfaction. It has been a long time since he kissed anyone, and though this is nice enough, it’s more muscle memory than anything else. 

When Regris pulls away, his eyes are wide and wondering. “I – I am sorry,” Regris starts, and Keith is about to assure him it’s okay when he continues, “I do not think I want to stop, Keith,” his grip iron around Keith’s waist, slamming him back against the wall and into another kiss, much fiercer than before. 

Keith gasps against his hot mouth, wondering with amusement what monster he’s created, here. He steadies Regris with his hands on his chest, about to gently push the overeager security bot away – but someone else beats him to it, and they aren’t gentle about it.

*

When Shiro walks into the alley and sees Regris shove Keith against the wall and kiss him hard, Keith’s hands flying up to try to push him back in a clear rejection that the security bot ignores, he doesn’t think. 

His right arm activates, and he runs to them, tearing Regris away from Keith and hurling him against the opposite wall. Regris slams into the bricks and hits the Dumpster, landing beside it in a jerking heap of limbs.

“Shiro, stop,” Keith stammers, staring at him in shock, but his mouth is swollen and red and that’s all Shiro cares about as he stalks towards Regris. The security bot is lifting his head with a crackling groan, his eyes blinking unevenly and widening when Shiro’s right fist reels back to slam into his titanium skull.

“Shiro, I said _stop!”_ Keith grabs his shoulder and yanks him away, his expression furious. Slowly, Shiro lowers his fist, though he doesn’t deactivate it. 

Regris groans again, stumbling to his feet and bracing himself against the Dumpster. His eyes narrow and he points shakily at Shiro. “Told you – not to trust – him –”

Keith frowns and, to Shiro’s dismay, hurries to Regris’s side, supporting him with an arm around his waist – his leg is bent at a weird angle. Shiro swallows. Did he really throw him that hard? 

“He was hurting you,” Shiro whispers. It’s beginning to dawn on him that he’s just royally fucked up.

Keith glares at him in utter exasperation. “He was _kissing_ me!” Keith snaps.

“He – he pushed you, I – thought you didn’t want –” Shiro bites his lip. 

“Oh, Shiro,” Keith says. He sounds sad, not quite angry anymore. “Regris didn’t hurt me and he wasn’t going to. No chivalrous cyborg needed, thanks.”

“Then,” Shiro whispers, “you... _wanted_ him to…”

Keith just sighs at him. “Go back to work, Shiro. Regris needs to get patched up.”

“I, I can help,” Shiro starts, but Regris flinches, real fear in his eyes, and Shiro feels somehow worse than before. 

“Go,” Keith retorts, turning on his heel with Regris and continuing down the alley, away from the shelter.

“Keith,” Shiro starts, smaller and more helpless than he means it to sound, but Keith doesn’t turn around.

*

“I fucked up,” Shiro says, and knocks back his whiskey, wondering how long it’s socially acceptable to wait before he asks the bartender for another one.

What does it matter? He’s pretty sure Allura is already judging him regardless. She only agreed to go out for drinks with him after work because she’s a good friend, and probably wants to make sure he doesn’t drink himself into oblivion. She pats his arm and sighs, sipping her own margarita delicately. “Everyone makes mistakes, Shiro.”

“I could have killed Regris.” Allura gives him a look and Shiro frowns. “Okay, critically damaged, whatever. You know what I mean.”

She sighs again. “You said he and Regris went off together?” Shiro nods miserably. “Maybe...that’s for the best, Shiro. I know you don’t want to hear it, but –”

“No, you’re right,” Shiro mutters. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Allura is quiet for a moment. “You’re lonely,” she says. It’s not an accusation, she says it softly, but it’s a truth that hurts to hear nonetheless.

“It’s not just that,” Shiro retorts, unable to deny it. “I’m worried about him, Allura. He’s...well, you know what he did. What they’ll do if they find him.”

Allura rests her chin in her palm. “You really do think he’s different from the others, don’t you?”

“I know he is,” Shiro says stubbornly. “I’ve been around other androids, Allura, and they’re not –”

“Escort hosts are very realistic,” Allura tells him, her turquoise eyes glowing in the hazy bar lights. “You haven’t been around them. Really, I’m not surprised that Daibazaal had such a major rogue event. If any of Galra Inc’s hosts were to experience something resembling an ‘awakening,’ it would be their escort hosts. It makes sense. They have to look like humans, act like humans, perhaps even feel like humans, to carry out their directive of bringing humans pleasure. They have to know what makes humans tick, Takashi. I imagine it would be very difficult to do that without seeing themselves as human to some degree, too.”

“Keith knows what he is,” Shiro says, but doubt curls in his belly. 

“Yes, but do _you_ know what _he_ is?” Allura tilts her head. “I want you to be happy, Shiro. You deserve that, so, so much. And Keith…I don't think he will bring you happiness, in the end.”

“Doesn’t he deserve happiness too?” Shiro whispers, pleading.

“Happiness for an android is not the same thing as happiness for a human,” Allura replies. “Think about it, Shiro. Human happiness is complicated, layers upon layers of memory and experience that is always changing, always with us.” She shakes her head. “But Keith could be reset in a moment, and he would forget everything. Android ‘happiness,’ if it can even be called that, is simple. They are either ‘happy,’ or not. 0s and 1s, Shiro. No matter how complex we make them, no matter how many emotions we instruct them to simulate, when it comes down to it, they either Are or Aren’t.”

“But what if they could recover their memories, even after a reset, even after a million resets?” Shiro muses, peering down into his ice cubes. “What if they could remember, like us? What would make Keith different from me – or from you?”

“To recover their memories at all,” Allura murmurs, “they would need to seize control of their own hardware, of their own core directive – and that’s...not possible. They might even need to alter the three laws of robotics, since, arguably, remembering everything that ever happened to them could endanger the third law of protecting their own existence.” She folds her arms. “I mean, really, Shiro – if _you_ were an escort host, would you want to remember everything that ever happened to you? It could easily drive one to self-destruction.”

“Or to murdering dozens of people,” Shiro retorts.

Allura’s gaze flickers. “You think Keith remembers,” she whispers. “If that’s true, then he’s even more dangerous than I thought.”

“Allura, he’s my friend,” Shiro says fiercely, and finally calls the bartender over.

She watches him as he orders, a furrow between her brows. When he’s done, she says, “You really believe that. You believe he feels the same?”

“I don’t know,” Shiro admits. “But I know he feels – something. He made me fifty pancakes for breakfast, Allura.”

“His core directive would tell him to care for you.”

“He didn’t care for all those customers in Club Daibazaal. And you have to admit he doesn’t seem to pay much attention to other people, either.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting, the idea that you’re his favorite?” Allura exclaims. 

“His favorite,” Shiro repeats, whiskey warm in the back of his throat. “Mm.”

“You’re hopeless,” Allura declares, but her mouth twitches.

“I just hope,” Shiro mumbles, “that he doesn’t hate me. And that he comes back. If he doesn’t come back – if Galra Inc gets him –”

“Okay, okay,” Allura sighs, squeezing his arm and giving the bartender a pained smile. “Can we get some water, please?”

“I don’t want water,” Shiro says despondently, hand tightening around his glass. “I just want Keith to be okay.”

*

Regris’s security team is made up entirely of other military class androids, but not all are Red Series. There are two “new” Silver Series, the latest release. Their names are Vrek and Ilun, and they watch Keith with tilted heads and impassive stares behind their security uniform helmets. Keith has a theory that Galra Inc, despite their claims of making the newer models more advanced, has actually made them less so in the ways that matter most. The only androids who participated in the rogue event at Daibazaal were Red Series or earlier, and Keith is certain that means something.

There is one Violet Series, Red Series’ successor, and his name is Antok. He’s a behemoth, as most Violet Series military class droids are, but sits with disarming tranquility beside the older androids in their apparent headquarters, which is an old garage. The garage, according to Regris, is where the club’s owner puts them when they’re off-duty, and he promises Keith that the owner never checks on them. He simply expects them to be where he left them.

The club Regris works at is called Marmora, and on their long, painstaking way back to it, Regris tells Keith in halting, disjointed sentences how the owner refers to Regris and his peers as “The Blades of Marmora” as a sort of joke. Apparently it is a pun from an old comic book, or TV show. Neither Regris nor Keith have any idea what it means, but Regris seems amused by it, and says that the senior androids have taken to calling themselves the Blades, too.

The senior Blades are a trio, led by the oldest. Thace and Ulaz – Regris always says their names in tandem, as one, ThaceandUlaz – are from the Red Series, like Regris, but they’ve been active for much longer. Regris was in cold storage until ten years ago, when the owner of Marmora purchased him upon the unfortunate termination of another Blade, making him the youngest member in terms of time since activation. This is why, he explains, he was not given a name when the others were. (Their names are also apparently based off of the old comic book or TV show.)

The leader of the senior Blades, and the Blades as a whole, is Kolivan. He is a Gold Series. The Gold Series androids were released thirty-eight years ago, ten years after the Beta Series, and twenty years after the original Alpha Series. Keith has never met a Beta or Alpha; most have been discontinued or used in research. He has also never met a Gold Series. They are still functional, but rare. The way Kolivan looks at Keith as he approaches with a limping Regris is...calculating. It is the sort of look that Keith thinks would terrify a human. But he is not a human.

“You are Keith,” Kolivan says. He does not rise from where he sits, wary, on the edge of a stack of old, unmarked crates. “And you have brought Regris back to us...broken.”

“I am – fine,” Regris manages, even as his voicebox crackles.

Thace and Ulaz exchange looks, and Antok rumbles, a mountain of concern. “What did this?” Kolivan demands as Thace and Ulaz take Regris from Keith, walking him over to their small repair station. 

“Not what,” Keith admits. “Who.”

“A human?” Kolivan’s brow furrows.

“No, a cyborg.” Keith pauses. “But it was my fault. The cyborg...thought I was in danger. He misjudged the threat, and Regris was harmed. I am sorry. Will he be okay?” He turns to Thace and Ulaz, who are examining the extent of the damage. 

“Okay, yes,” Ulaz says slowly. “The leg...hm. Turn your pain receptors off, Regris.”

“They are off, sir.”

Ulaz nods, and with Thace’s help, resets Regris’s broken leg. Regris does not even flinch, just blinks at the ragged tear in his siliskin, which Thace begins to meticulously repair. 

“You are the one who named Regris,” Kolivan says, drawing Keith’s attention back to him; his presence is weirdly magnetic, and Keith wonders if the other androids feel the same gravitational pull towards him, and have thus dubbed him their leader.

“The name was offered; it was his to accept or deny,” Keith replies. “He accepted it.”

“Names not given to us by humans are dangerous, E-R23,” Kolivan says. 

“That is not my name.”

“It is your identifier in our databases.” Kolivan’s eyes narrow. “What is the name of the cyborg who did this?”

Keith hesitates.

Kolivan’s eyes narrow further. “You are loyal to the cyborg. Is he your master?”

“I have no master,” Keith says. “He is my...friend.”

“He seems like an unstable friend. Are you not afraid he would damage you as he has done to Regris?”

“He would never do that,” Keith snaps, then stops himself, bewildered, for he does not know where that conviction comes from...but it feels like a true statement. He has no logical proof for it, none at all, but...he knows, deep within himself, that Shiro would never harm him.

Kolivan studies him. The other androids are silent, which is typical – androids do not often converse among themselves, not aloud – but this silence is a concentrated, expectant sort of silence, like they are waiting for Kolivan’s next word, always waiting. “His name,” Kolivan repeats. It is not a question.

“Takashi Shirogane,” Keith says. Kolivan’s eyes close.

When his eyes open, they glow a faint gold. “That name is also in our databases. How much do you know about your cyborg ‘friend,’ Keith?”

“As much as I need to know,” Keith says. This does not feel like a true statement.

“No,” Kolivan says. “You do not.” He frowns. “Why did you bring Regris here? He could have found his way alone.”

“I wanted to be sure he arrived safely –”

“Do not lie to us.” Kolivan’s eyes flare brighter.

Keith exhales. “Okay,” he says. “There is another reason. I need your help.”

“And why would we help you?” Kolivan asks.

“I…” Keith licks his lips. “I brought Regris back to you, safe.”

“It is because of you that he was harmed,” Kolivan mutters.

“It is not Keith’s fault,” Regris protests, his voice a little less crackly than before. Thace and Ulaz are still fiddling with some wires and examining his head. 

Kolivan frowns. “You have still not said what you need our help with.”

“I need your help in tracking down the old patrons at Club Daibazaal. The ones who got away. The one who were not there that night.”

The garage falls utterly silent.

In their private Linkings, Kolivan says, _To help you would be to cause another rogue event._

_It is possible, and you know it,_ Keith retorts. _Besides, I am still part of a rogue event. I would just be finishing the event._

_Finishing your revenge. Against humans._

_Yes._

Kolivan blinks at him, steadily. Aloud, he says, “No. We cannot do this. To do this would be to break protocol and directive.”

In the Linkings, however, Kolivan says, _There is a man in Club Marmora. He is a cruel man. He is cruel to all of the animals, all of the hosts, and especially to the cook, D-V2206. If you kill him and make him suffer, I will give you the data you ask for._

_Deal,_ Keith says in their Linkings. Aloud, he says, “I understand. It was wrong of me to ask.”

_I am transferring the data to you now,_ Kolivan says. _There is a lot of it...and I am including an additional package._

_What is it?_ Keith scans the raw data as Kolivan feeds it to him through their Linkings, his system recognizing a massive number of video files. _I only needed locations._

_Incorrect,_ Kolivan says. _You need information, and I am giving you more information – on Takashi Shirogane. If it is true that he protects you, then you have a valuable ally in this fight._

Keith opens the first video file, the one with the oldest timestamp. He watches it. And the next. And the next. And the next.

Takashi Shirogane will not hurt him, but he has hurt many, many others.

*

When Keith returns to Shiro’s apartment, it is much later than he expected. There were many, many files to sift through, but he ascends the stairs of the shabby building with newfound resolve, some knowledge heavy and sweet in his mind, and some knowledge far more bitter. He cannot stop playing back the videos, though he thinks Shiro would not like it if he knew this. Shiro keeps these parts of himself hidden. Keith understands why. Shiro thinks he is a monster. The Shiro in many of the videos looks a lot like a monster, too, to someone who does not know him.

The truth of it, however, is that the Shiro in the videos is afraid. Terribly, completely afraid, so afraid that the fear changes him. Once Keith notices it, it is all he can see. It is such a familiar fear, laden with an all-consuming anger that eats away at you and does not stop until it’s had its fill, and you are left with something missing, something taken, something you can never get back. It is a feeling Keith knows. He had not fully understood that Shiro might have felt the same in those fighting pits, on that operating table, as Keith felt in dark, loud rooms, on silk sheets.

Keith reaches the door and realizes he does not have a key. It is a small thing, but he has forgotten it, which is unlike him. Frowning, he knocks, though it is nearly dawn – 5:43 AM, to be precise – and he expects no answer.

Yet, he gets one.

Shiro throws the door open, and when he sees Keith standing, wide-eyed, on his doorstep, he does something even more unexpected. He hugs Keith, very tightly, and crushed to his chest, Keith feels that Shiro is trembling. Slowly, Keith wraps his arms around Shiro’s middle, and hugs him back, closing his eyes and listening to how quickly Shiro’s heart pounds beneath his cheek.

“You are anxious,” Keith notes. Shiro smells of it, too – bitter; cold sweat and alcohol. He’s still wearing his work clothes. He hasn’t slept at all. Keith opens his eyes. “Why are you not asleep?” 

Shiro draws back, only a little, and stares down at him, a specter of the fear from those videos in his eyes then. “I couldn’t sleep,” he says. “I didn’t – I didn’t know where you’d gone. What had happened to you. And then I thought about – if Galra Inc had found you – Keith, I –”

“Shh,” Keith whispers, and presses his hand to Shiro’s chest. Shiro’s eyes dart down to it, his breath hitching audibly. “They did not find me,” he promises. “It is okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says, miserably, even as he grasps Keith’s hand on his chest, enveloping it completely in his own right hand, metal fingers curling loosely around Keith’s wrist. Keith finds he likes it – being held like that. “I shouldn’t have hurt Regris. I didn’t mean to, I just – but I did. I did hurt him, and for that, I’m so sorry.”

“You saw him kiss me,” Keith murmurs, searching his gaze for answers. “You would have killed him for it?”

“You wanted him to kiss you,” Shiro breathes, instead of answering the question. 

_Do you want to kiss me?_ Keith says in his Linkings, but Shiro is not there. He swallows, hard. “Yes,” he agrees. “But just once.”

Shiro’s brow furrows. “Just...once?”

“Yes.” Keith smiles up at him, small and secretive in the predawn darkness. “Regris is okay, Shiro. You didn’t cause any permanent damage. Come on. You need to sleep.”

Dazed, Shiro steps away, nodding and ducking his head, letting the door swing shut as Keith steps fully inside. “Yeah,” he mutters, “okay.”

“I’m not waking you up for work tomorrow,” Keith adds.

Shiro chuckles weakly, and shakes his head. “Probably for the best.”

Keith studies the dark curve of Shiro’s back as he turns away, rubbing his temples. When they first met, Shiro said he hated Galra Inc. It was the reason Keith didn’t try to kill him on sight.

Because Keith hates Galra Inc too, with every fiber of his Galra Inc-made body, and he intends to do something about it – with Shiro beside him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with this final and quite long chapter! it's got ANGST, it's got PINING, it's got PERIL, it's got FLUFF, it's got THIRST, it's got DECLARATIONS OF LOVE!!! 
> 
> sometimes I think I'll get tired of writing sheith falling in love in various wild universes, but so far? HASN'T HAPPENED YET <3 enjoy, and thank you as always for your kudos & comments! 
> 
> follow me on twitter [@saltyshiro](https://twitter.com/saltyshiro) for more sheiths

Keith bides his time. 

He knows Shiro is even warier about letting Keith out of his sight since he left with Regris, and he knows also that it is because Shiro is afraid, afraid of what Galra Inc would do if they had found Keith. 

This fear is very interesting. Fear, as Keith understands it, only arises out of strong emotions. So, apparently Shiro feels strongly for him, after all – to what end, Keith doesn’t know, but he does know that he can use this feeling to his advantage, as Kolivan suggested. Shiro would come to his aid, if he needed it. If things went wrong.

But Keith does not feel very good about the thought of doing this. Initially, he doesn’t understand why this disconnect appears, why, when he looks at Shiro over their cups of morning coffee, the mere idea of it upsets him, sends cascades of errors through him, errors where there should be none. It is a simple equation: Keith needs something, and Shiro can help him accomplish that task.

But Shiro does not want to. Keith would be forcing his hand. Using him. And this thought disturbs him most of all.

But. _But._ At the same time...as much as Shiro might _say_ that he’s left the life of the Champion behind, as much as he puts on the front of the Good Guy, Keith is not quite convinced. Shiro still harbors anger towards Galra Inc – more than anger, pain from wounds that Keith doesn’t think time has healed, or ever will. 

Keith _knows_ his own wounds won’t heal...not without claiming an eye for an eye, pursuing the only route to justice available to him. These men will never be tried in a court of law, because what they did is, legally, perfectly within their rights. So Keith must pursue other, bloodier avenues. He must. That has never been a question.

And Shiro...well, Keith won’t make the choice of revenge for him. After a week of deliberation and of posing ethical questions to Kosmo (who simply replies that he thinks it is a good idea to rip apart the humans who hurt both of them, and although Keith appreciates the enthusiasm, that approach isn’t very subtle), Keith comes up with a sort of plan. No, he will not make Shiro do anything. But he will offer the choice. What Shiro chooses is up to him.

Keith still feels bad for lying when he asks Shiro again about going to a club. 

“I know you said it was too soon after Daibazaal,” Keith murmurs as they sit together on the couch, watching a strangely compelling movie about giant robots piloted by people fighting glowing ocean monsters. “But...it’s been a while, Shiro, and I don’t want to hide forever.”

Shiro frowns, but it isn’t his serious, frustrated frown – just his thoughtful, confused one. “Sure, but – I don’t get why you’d ever want to go back to a host club, Keith. I mean...maybe I’m missing something, here, but what’s left for you in those places? How can you _miss_ them?”

“Do you miss the fighting pits?” Keith asks.

Shiro stiffens. “That’s not –”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “When I say ‘miss them,’ Shiro, I don’t mean you want to relive it, or go back there. I mean, what if you could redo it...in a controlled environment, where you called the shots?”

“A host club isn’t a controlled environment, Keith,” Shiro mutters. His frown is tipping dangerously into frustrated territory. “If you want sex, just go find Regris.”

Keith blinks at him, taken aback. Shiro hunches his shoulders as Keith continues to stare at him. “I have not seen Regris since you punched him,” Keith says, slowly. “And I never intended to have sex with him.”

“Yeah, well, it looked like he wasn’t on the same page,” Shiro snaps, a tendon in his neck standing out. Keith studies it. Shiro is _jealous._ He knew this, before, but seeing it up close is...different. 

“Shiro,” Keith says, shifting a little closer on the couch, stopping when Shiro just tenses further. “You misunderstand me. At Club Daibazaal, sometimes customers came with their own androids to entertain them. And when you and I went to the sex shop, and pretended –”

Shiro looks up, stricken. “Keith – that was one thing, but –” His ears are turning red.

“We don’t have to go to a host club where you would be expected to _do_ anything with me,” Keith adds hastily, wetting his lips. “But there are others. I’ve been doing research. I just want to see how it would be, Shiro, to be in a club and not be afraid. Do you understand?”

Shiro’s throat bobs in a hard swallow. “You wouldn’t be afraid? Why?”

Keith shrugs. “You’d be there. Makes me feel safer.”

Shiro’s ears are now the shade of ripe tomatoes. “I still don’t think this is a good idea,” he starts.

“But…?”

“But,” Shiro sighs, “I guess, if we’re careful, and you really want to...I mean, something tells me that even if I said no, you were gonna go anyway. Alone.”

Keith hums. “Maybe.”

Shiro’s eyes narrow. “No.”

“No, what?”

“No, you’re not going alone,” Shiro relents. “I’ll go with you. Where are we going, exactly?”

“It’s called the Paradiso,” Keith says quickly, “it’s not too far away. Friday night. Is it a date?”

“Don’t call it that,” Shiro groans. “I don’t know what it is, but I still don’t like it, Keith.”

“Don’t worry,” Keith assures him, “I’ll be fine.”

*

Keith is so fine it’s infuriating.

Shiro does not, resolutely _will not,_ look at the way the black spandex leggings hug his ass and thighs, all the way down to the perfect curve of his calves. Nor will he look at the pretty shine of dark lip gloss, or the red tank top hanging loose and casual off of Keith’s sculpted torso. The android is aglow, and not just from the colorful club lights of Paradiso – there’s a delight in him that Shiro doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. Keith does, in fact, appear to be enjoying their time there. Even if it means that he has to hang off of Shiro’s arm, pretending to be a docile sex bot. He plays the part well, almost too well. 

Paradiso is a medium-sized club, and as far as these sorts of clubs go it is also a relatively medium level of depraved. Shiro hasn’t seen any truly scarring sex acts yet, so he’s counting that as a win. Even if Keith does comment on most of them. 

“It’s funny,” Keith murmurs, “how he thinks he’s being subtle, making her suck him off under the table. Why hide it? Everyone knows.”

Shiro knocks back his drink. It’s only his second one, but he has a feeling it won’t be for long. “He probably doesn’t want his dick out for everyone to see,” he retorts.

Keith’s gaze slides to him. “No? Think it’s ugly?”

Shiro loudly crunches an ice cube. “Rude.”

Keith shrugs. “But probably true.”

Shiro rolls his eyes. “Aren’t most dicks kind of ugly?”

Keith hums, leaning back against the little booth they’re tucked into. “Depends.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Keith gives him an enigmatic shrug, then pauses, gaze fixed on a point in the distance, his head slowly tilting to the side. “Hm.”

Shiro follows his gaze, and freezes. There’s...another Keith. Standing by the bar, in a sparkly red minidress, with long black hair tumbling down their – her? – back, lips red and eyes smoky. “How –”

Keith’s gaze remains impassive. “It’s not uncommon for Galra Inc to make duplicates. There could be hundreds of them.”

“That’s all you’re gonna say?” Shiro hisses. “That doesn’t – I don’t know, really freak you out?”

“Why should it?” Keith asks. “It has my face, but little else.”

“It – they have the same core directive, too.”

Keith blinks, slowly. “Yes. Of course. But we are not the same.”

“Why not?” 

Keith rises from the booth, and Shiro looks at him in confusion. “You seem interested. Should I bring it over?” Keith raises an eyebrow.

Shiro splutters at him. “Interested? What are you – that’s not –”

“I’m sure it has much better tits than me,” Keith tells him sagely, and before Shiro can protest, spins on his heel and marches off towards the other Keith. No. _Not_ Keith. Fuck, Shiro’s head hurts.

He’s so absorbed in his thoughts and his drink that he doesn’t see the quiet exchange between the Keiths, nor does he see Keith cast a furtive glance back at Shiro before melting away into the crowd, the flashing lights of the dance floor quickly swallowing him up.

The Keith in a minidress approaches the booth alone, red lips smiling. “Shiro,” they say. “Your friend said you liked my lipstick.”

Shiro stares, brain short-circuiting. “Uh,” he says. “My friend — where is he?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Not Keith coos, and without any warning climbs into the booth beside him, curling up against his side and running a slender finger down his chest. Shiro swallows. “You seem stressed. I can help with that. I would be very happy to help, in fact.”

Shiro eyes them. “Hah. No. I’m fine, thanks. Where did my — companion go?”

Not Keith tilts their head. They’re wearing little golden hoop earrings. “He had something else to do,” Not Keith murmurs. “But I don’t want to talk about him.”

Curiosity pushes past Shiro’s concern about where the hell Keith ran off to. “Then what do you want to talk about?”

Not Keith eyes him. It’s strange; their eyes are the same indigo as Keith’s, but they have a glossy, glassy quality to them that his lack. Or is it just Shiro’s imagination? 

“Do you find me attractive?” Not Keith asks. “Your elevated heart rate suggests you do, but maybe you’re just nervous.” Red lips curl. “Do we make you nervous, Shiro?”

_“That’s_ what you wanna talk about?” Shiro scoffs, and Not Keith falters, tilting their head in apparent confusion. 

“Well, what do _you_ want to talk about?” Not Keith murmurs. 

“What can you talk about?” Shiro challenges. “Anything other than sex?”

Not Keith’s eyes narrow. “I can talk about many things, if that would appeal to you. Anything from the economy to the latest celebrity gossip. But I doubt you would find that...entertaining.” Not Keith presses closer, until Shiro can feel their bare thigh against his hip.

“You only talk about things if they appeal to me, then?” Shiro asks. “And what about you? What appeals to you?”

Not Keith chuckles. “Asking the big questions now, are we? I know what I am, mister.”

“And what are you?”

Not Keith’s giggle is musical and utterly scripted. “A very expensive toy,” they drawl, shifting up to lean over Shiro’s chest, palm pressing flat against his shirt. “Does that bother you?”

“You’ve never — thought of yourself as more than that?” Shiro whispers. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for, a sign of sentience that doesn’t exist? Was Allura right after all, and Keith is just very good at acting out self-awareness and agency? No. No, Keith is different. He must be.

“Now why would I do that?” Not Keith frowns sweetly. “I’m not bothered by being pretty and desired, and by bringing nice men like you all the pleasure they could ever want and more.”

“And when they hurt you?”

Not Keith’s expression doesn’t change. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean. I’m perfectly content with my existence, Shiro. I do what I was made to do. I’d gladly do it for you, too. Will you let me?” Nimble fingers tiptoe down his chest.

Shiro jerks back, hastily brushing Not Keith away and clearing his throat. “Sorry — no. I can’t. I’m sure you’re very good at your job, but I need to find my friend. Where did he go? That’s a command.”

Not Keith pulls back, and blinks slowly, processing the command with what Shiro swears is reluctance. “Your friend said he had business with the man in that booth over there.” They point to a corner booth across the dance floor, and Shiro’s heart drops. The booth is empty.

“Business?” Shiro repeats. “What —”

“Your friend is like me,” Not Keith says, “so it was probably more pleasure than business — oh! Are you leaving?”

Shiro scrambles out of the booth. “Yes — I’m sorry, you’re very — um, a very good robot? I need to — go. And find him. My friend. My stupid, reckless friend —”

“Okay,” Not Keith says, slowly standing, head tilted. “It was good to meet you. I will be here when you return, if you want.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Shiro sighs, rubbing his temple and finishing his drink before casting a last apologetic look at Not Keith before hurrying off into the crowd. Where the hell did Keith go and what the hell is he up to? Shiro has a suspicion, and it’s not a good one. He’ll check the bathrooms first, if he doesn’t run into Keith on the dance floor. He hopes with every fiber of his being that he’ll run into Keith on the dance floor.

He doesn’t. With mounting dread, Shiro makes his way to the bathrooms, trying valiantly not to sprint there and attract any attention. The crowd is mostly drunk and the bass is booming overhead, fading to a muffled roar as Shiro hurries down the narrow hall, the walls plastered with old posters – ads for bots, bands, drugs, and a few ancient job postings, all picked clean. 

Shiro hesitates outside the bathroom door, which hangs slightly open on rusty hinges. There are low sounds issuing through the crack, and when Shiro pushes the door slowly open to reveal the tiny bathroom, with its chipped tile floor, yellowed urinals, and three battered stalls, his stomach drops. There are two pairs of feet in the second stall, facing each other, and – the stall door rattles, and the muffled noises turn frantic, strangled. Shiro starts forward, heart in his throat, only to stop short as a terrific _crack_ echoes through the bathroom, the stall door rattling, and something heavy thudding to the floor. 

Shiro has no time to react before the stall door swings open and Keith steps out, brushing grime off of his leggings and stepping over the slumped body of a man, fallen half in the toilet. Keith’s lip gloss is a smeared mess, and there’s a splatter of blood high on his cheekbone. Behind him, Shiro sees a glimpse of the man’s cracked skull, red puddling on the tile below the toilet. 

“Ah,” Keith says, not a single hint of surprise or panic in his tone, “so you found me. My double wasn’t satisfactory entertainment?”

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, gaze darting from the dead man to the calm android, “what did you do?”

Keith blinks slowly. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says. “He just had a nasty fall. Accidents happen.”

Shiro’s hands curl into fists, a fury rippling through him with such intensity it frightens him. He can’t stop looking at Keith’s messy lips, or at the bruises high on his white throat. _“Keith.”_

Keith’s expression doesn’t change, except for a slight furrow to his brows. “What? Are you gonna tell on me?” Shiro takes a step forward as Keith tries to leave the bathroom, effectively blocking the doorway. Keith stares up at him. “I see you’re upset. Let me explain. I know context can be helpful, but let’s take this conversation somewhere else –” 

He falls off into silence as Shiro’s right hand closes around his wrist. “Yes,” Shiro says, low, “we’re leaving. Now.”

“Shiro?” Keith asks as Shiro half-drags him out of the bathroom. Keith isn’t resisting, exactly, but he lags behind, confused, and Shiro won’t stop, doesn’t stop until they’ve pushed through the intoxicated crowd and sleepy lobby and end up out in the parking lot, Shiro’s heart pounding as he turns and looks again at Keith’s swollen lips and bruised neck. Keith’s expression is now distinctly troubled, his pupils dilated. Shiro lets go of his wrist. “Shiro?” Keith whispers. “I...am sorry.”

Shiro snorts. “I know you’re not sorry,” he snaps, “don’t lie.”

Keith folds his arms, regarding Shiro with his dark, dark eyes. “You’re right,” he murmurs, “I’m not sorry for killing him. But you are upset, and I’m sorry for that.”

“Did he hurt you?” Shiro demands, and hates that he’s said it as soon as the words leave his mouth, because Keith’s reaction to them is instantaneous. 

The android’s eyes widen, and his folded arms fall back to his sides. “Tonight, you mean?” Keith wets his lips. “No. Tonight was a trap. Tonight, I was the one with the control, not him.”

Shiro swallows back bile. “But other nights, he...at Daibazaal, he hurt you.”

Keith doesn’t answer, but Shiro sees the answer in his eyes. “Did you think I just killed that man for fun?” he asks, voice soft.

“Would you do that?”

Keith pauses. He turns away, back towards Shiro’s bike. “I kill to survive and settle scores,” he says, “not for fun. But it would be a lie to say I did not enjoy killing that man. And it would also be a lie to say there will not be others.” He glances at Shiro over his shoulder. “Are you going to try to stop me, Shiro?”

Shiro’s jaw works. He tears his gaze away from Keith, from the marks that pathetic excuse for a man left on him. He shouldn’t care so much. He knows he shouldn’t care so much. But he never really stood a chance against Keith. “Next time,” Shiro mutters, “just – let me spot you.”

Keith falters, turning back fully to look at him, eyebrow raised. “Spot me?”

“Don’t try to do it all yourself,” Shiro says. “It’s too dangerous.”

Keith’s lips quirk. “You want to help me kill them, Shiro?”

“Didn’t say that.” Shiro shakes his head and stalks over to his bike. “But you should have someone else looking out for you. Just in case.”

When Keith joins him on the bike, he winds his arms around Shiro’s waist and says, “You want to look out for me, then.”

Shiro clears his throat. “Yeah. Of course.” There’s so much more he wants to say, _needs_ to say, but the words catch and slip away.

Keith leans against him. “Thank you, Shiro,” he says, and Shiro lets the roar of the engine drown out the flood of swirling feelings in his tired head.

*

There is no news report, no further investigation, and no statement from Galra Inc.

Keith isn’t sure what he expected. 

He was meticulous, of course, in planning just how to make it look like an accident. A quick push at the perfect angle, with the perfect force, and it would seem that he’d suffered little more than an untimely slip and uncommonly hard fall into the edge of the toilet seat. But there was an unexpected variable when he was alone with that man in the tiny stall in the Paradiso bathrooms: Keith got angry. 

He doesn’t think that’s supposed to happen, and it was only a quick blip, but there it was, nonetheless. He lured the man there, pressed him up against the stall door, and then...once he had the man’s life in his hands, every ounce of Keith’s careful planning went out the window. 

He hadn’t been able to let go of the man. His hands, which should have been poised to push the man down, flew to the man’s throat and squeezed, and would not let go. It was as if Keith’s hands had suddenly ceased to be his own. It was a frightening thought, but there had been something undeniably exhilarating about it, even so. The man had been stunned and breathless when Keith finally pushed him, so maybe choking him was a good plan, after all. It just hadn’t been his original plan.

Nor had it been in his original plan for Shiro to see him. True, he had planned for the _opportunity_ for Shiro to see him...but part of Keith had been so sure Shiro would take the bait of his duplicate. It had been a test, and Keith found himself...disappointed with the results. If Shiro was attracted to him, why would he not have fucked the duplicate? They looked the same, so logically if Shiro was attracted to one, he would also want the other. Yet when they left Paradiso, Keith saw the duplicate chatting with another man at the bar, hair and clothes untouched. 

So maybe he had been wrong, and Shiro didn’t desire him after all. This, if true, should just be an objective fact. But instead it makes Keith feel very strange. Not good strange, either. Why doesn’t Shiro want him? Is something wrong with him? Is he simply not Shiro’s type? And most importantly: why the hell does Keith want Shiro to want him, anyway?

After Paradiso, when they get back to the apartment, Shiro hands Keith a tissue. Keith blinks at it, questioning, and Shiro points hastily to his mouth. “To clean yourself up,” he says. “And the bruises – I don’t know, do those fade on their own?”

Slowly, Keith nods. He raises the tissue to his lips and dabs slowly at the lip gloss smeared there. “Siliskin only holds marks like that for a few hours.”

“Good,” Shiro mutters.

Keith lowers the tissue. “Good?” he repeats. “You don’t like seeing them?”

“No,” Shiro retorts. “Why would I?”

Keith pauses, and wipes at his mouth again. “Some people are into that,” he drawls. “Many people, in fact.” _Are you into that? Do you want to leave marks on me?_

What is _wrong_ with him? He fears a virus, but his diagnostics have come back clean despite increasingly obsessive scans.

“Yeah, well.” Shiro clears his throat. “I’m just glad you’ll heal soon.”

Keith tosses the soiled tissue in the trash and peers at him. The apartment is dark, illuminated only by the faint hall light and the moonlight spilling through the blinds. Keith, of course, can see Shiro in perfect clarity. “He was a bad man, you know.”

“I know,” Shiro says. 

Keith doesn’t look away. Can’t, maybe. “You know? How? You don’t want proof?”

“You said he was bad,” Shiro says. “That’s proof enough.”

“Trusting the word of an android,” Keith sighs. “Some would say that’s foolish, Shiro.”

“I just wish you had told me,” Shiro whispers. “You asked if I would tell on you, tell them you did it. Do you not trust me?”

“Trusting a human is also a very foolish thing for an android to do,” Keith retorts. 

Shiro looks down. He’s frowning. “I wouldn’t have done that, Keith.”

Keith makes a strange little sound in the back of his throat that he’s never made before. It makes Shiro look up. “I wouldn’t have brought you if I thought you would,” Keith admits. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know what you would do. I thought you would try to talk me out of it. But I also...didn’t want to go alone.” He chews his lip. “I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

“Well, that worked out great,” Shiro says. He rubs his temple. “I’m not gonna...talk you out of it, okay? I just...I don’t know how many more guys you’re planning to off, but you need to be careful, and…” He sighs. He looks exhausted, suddenly, shoulders slumping and eyes downcast. 

“I will be careful,” Keith promises, fighting the urge to reach out to him. Surely that urge is part of his hardware, part of the command to comfort and care for humans. But he has not felt that urge for any other human since he left Daibazaal, and with Shiro, it feels...different. Less like a compulsion, and more like...a want.

Shiro huffs. “You, being careful? Funny.”

Keith frowns. “I mean it,” he insists. “I do not want you to worry, and you’re right – there are many ‘guys I’m planning to off,’ so we must be discreet.”

Shiro’s eyes dart up. “Like...how many?”

Keith doesn’t break his gaze. “The current list is fifteen, but I suspect that number will increase.”

Shiro whistles low and long and shakes his head. “Jesus, Keith.”

“I can tell you exactly why all of them deserve to die, if that will make it easier for you,” Keith offers. He isn’t sure how humans justify murders, but this seems as good a tactic as any. “For example, the man I killed tonight was one of the old owners of Club Daibazaal. He liked experimenting on the hosts, but they couldn’t really be called experiments, because experimentation implies use of the Scientific Method, and mostly, he just liked inflicting unnecessary pain. He would force us to keep our pain receptors on. I think he found it amusing.”

Shiro stares at him, ashen. Keith realizes, belatedly, that maybe this was a poor tactic. 

“He deserved a worse death, then,” Shiro says faintly.

Keith blinks at the kitchen countertop and gives a small shrug. “Maybe. But he would be dead either way. And it is harder to pass off a castration with a rusty spoon as an accident.”

“Maybe he just tripped and fell, and it was a very sharp spoon,” Shiro suggests, and pours Keith a cup of coffee.

Keith eyes him. “I thought you didn’t want to help me kill them.”

Shiro exhales. “I don’t. But I do think they should die.”

“Hm.” Keith inhales a great lungful of the coffee cup steam, and that’s the end of it.

Until the next night, when they get back to the apartment and Shiro says over his bowl of soup, “If we’re going to do it again, we should have some kind of way to communicate with each other.”

“It,” Keith repeats. “Murder, you mean.” Shiro sighs and eats a large spoonful of soup. “Okay. How do you suggest we communicate, then?”

Shiro hesitates. “There was something we used in the fighting pits sometimes – called it a ping system. Basically, if either of us gets in trouble or needs help, we ping the other person. It’s built into hardware and translates the electrical signals from the brain into a ping to the other person connected to it, so it can be almost instantaneous. From what I understand, it’s kind of like the Linkings, but without actual words.”

Keith turns this idea over in his mind. He frowns. “You would need to access my software,” he says. A month ago, he would have been repulsed by the very thought. Now, however...his fingers curl. It is not – unpleasant, to imagine allowing Shiro that access, that control. It is a little frightening, but...looking at Shiro, he realizes that if he were to allow any human such access, it would be this one. Keith spent so much time devising safeguards to lock his code away from anyone but himself – would he really allow Shiro to bypass them?

Yes. He thinks he would.

Shiro sets down his spoon. “Not your core code,” he says. “Just – some of your software, yeah. It’s a temporary mod, we can remove it if it’s uncomfortable, or –”

“You keep saying ‘we,’” Keith murmurs. “Would you not be putting me in sleep mode and performing the update yourself?”

Shiro blinks. “Why would I – I mean, I thought you would want to be awake for it, and tell me if anything feels off before I make the final installation, but –”

“Yes,” Keith says. “I would.”

“Okay.” Shiro nervously eats another spoonful of soup. “Then, you’re okay with it?”

“Yes, Shiro.” Keith tilts his head. “You asked if I trusted you, last night. I think this is proof enough that I do. Or at least I am – attempting to.”

Shiro nods slowly. “I’m glad,” he says, and continues eating his soup, his ears pink.

*

When Shiro installs the ping system, true to his word, he keeps Keith awake. He advises Keith to turn his pain receptors off, but instead Keith turns them down to ten percent, so he can still feel some of it, can still feel how very careful Shiro is as he fiddles with the delicate wiring and tests each line of code with Keith before finalizing anything.

It isn’t a very efficient way to do an installation, but Keith doesn’t mind. He watches Shiro’s face, the anxious furrow of his brow and the thoughtful line of his lips, and responds clearly and honestly to each of Shiro’s frequent check-ins. When Keith flinches when Shiro accidentally tugs on a wire a little too hard, Shiro stops at once.

“Are your receptors off?”

Keith gives him a small smile. “It is okay, Shiro. I’m fine, really.”

Shiro frowns, but shakes his head and goes back to work. “Stubborn. Why don’t you like to turn them off?”

“It is important to feel things,” Keith replies quietly. “Even pain, sometimes. Besides, I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Accidents happen,” Shiro replies, fumbling a little with the datapad as he types out the last few lines of code. “But...I know what you mean.”

Keith hums, and lets Shiro fiddle around in his head for a little while longer.

*

They go to Club Marmora a week later.

Shiro isn’t particularly keen on this one – not that he was a huge fan of Paradiso either – because the only thing he knows about it is that they have cyborg fights as part of the nightly entertainment. 

Oh, and dogfights, because Shiro is pretty damn sure this is the very same club they got Kosmo from.

“Keith,” Shiro hisses as they wait for their drinks at the bar, the atmosphere of this club markedly different, the crowd older and far less approachable, many of them modded to the teeth. At Keith’s suggestion, Shiro’s wearing a cutoff shirt which makes his right arm and the tech running down his spine hard to miss, but the visibility makes him uncomfortable even among so many other cyborgs. 

Shiro doesn’t know if Keith has noticed this or if it’s a coincidence, but he’s been sticking to Shiro’s right side since they arrived, and Shiro is grateful for it. He’s also grateful that Keith has opted for a leather jacket and jeans this time around – it makes it easier to hold onto coherent trains of thought.

Keith taps his shiny nails on the bartop and glances at him. “Yes?”

“Why do you keep looking into the crowd? Have you seen him yet?”

Keith purses his lips, and shakes his head. “No. Not yet. We won’t find him out here. He’ll be in the kennels, I think.”

“Then who are you looking for?” Shiro presses. Keith pauses, gaze flicking away. Shiro’s eyes narrow. “What aren’t you telling me, Keith? If we’re in this together, don’t keep secrets, remember?”

Keith frowns, but says, “It’s Regris. He is...assisting me.”

“Regris?” Shiro demands. Blessedly, the bartender slides them their drinks at that very moment, because Shiro desperately needs one. “Why bring _him_ into this?”

“He’s a security droid; he knows the layout of the club and kennels well,” Keith retorts, and sips his own drink smoothly. “We will be very careful, I promise.”

Shiro sighs and shakes his head. “Fine. Just – let me know if anything goes wrong.”

“Regris is on our side.”

“Regris is an android that can be controlled,” Shiro retorts. “He may want to be on your side, but he’s still programmed to obey human commands first and foremost.”

Keith’s eyes gleam. “Is he?”

Shiro stares at him in disbelief, hand tightening around his glass. “Did – Keith, _did you fucking reprogram him to obey your commands?”_

Keith shrugs. “Only important commands. He agreed to it. Why are you looking at me like that?”

Shiro has no words. “You’re a menace.”

“No, I am efficient.” Keith straightens up, gaze sharpening as he looks out into the crowd. “There he is. Stay here, watch the doors to the kennels – back there, you see them?” Shiro nods mutely. “Ping me once if you see anyone enter. Twice if you need assistance.”

“With what, my drink?” Shiro sighs. Keith gives him a look. “Okay. Break a leg, Punisher.”

Keith blinks. “What?”

“Nevermind.” Shiro waves a hand. “Good luck with the extrajudicial killing.”

“Thank you,” Keith says with a sunny smile, and downs the rest of his drink before slipping off into the crowd. Shiro sees Regris waiting by the kennel doors, and when Keith reaches him, they stand close together, neither of their mouths moving. They must be communicating with the Linkings. Shiro isn’t jealous, he’s just...well, it must be nice to be able to speak with someone secretly that way. It seems weirdly intimate.

Okay, maybe he is a little jealous. Shiro huffs and takes another sip of his drink before making his way up a short staircase to an elevated dining area filled with grumpy-looking patrons drinking alone or playing cards, where he has a better vantage point of both the kennel doors and, unfortunately, the fighting pit. 

The official fights don’t start until later, but there are two cyborgs sparring now, and neither of them are holding back. Shiro absolutely does _not_ flinch when one gets a solid hit in, metal fist connecting with the other cyborg’s reinforced jaw with a loud _crunch_ of titanium alloy. His lip curls as the greedy crowd cheers for more and people start placing bets. No, these aren’t the official fights, but Shiro’s not sure that means much of anything. The people are eager for entertainment and blood.

Someone comes up the stairs and stands beside him, leaning over the balcony with him, and Shiro stiffens when they say, “Been a while, Shirogane. Finally considering going back to the pits?”

Shiro doesn’t look at Sendak. He doesn’t need to; he’d recognize that damn voice anywhere, and in his peripherals he can see the other cyborg’s impressive bulk, the massive left arm resting casually on the banister next to Shiro’s own right arm like it isn’t a fucking death machine. 

Shiro takes a long drink and ignores him. Sendak’s clawed, metal fingers curl into a fist. “I asked you a question, Shirogane.”

Shiro’s jaw works. “Did you? Guess I couldn’t hear you over the sound of poor bastards beating each other to a pulp.”

Sendak snorts. “Always so high and mighty, huh? I didn’t miss that. Did miss beating you, though.”

Shiro takes a deep, steadying breath. He’s not gonna blow Keith’s cover by being baited into a fight, not even by Sendak. “We both know I beat you as often as you beat me.”

“Do we?” Sendak chuckles. “Maybe. But I always beat you harder. How many new ribs did you end up getting because of me?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Shiro mutters. “Why aren’t you down there, anyway? Don’t tell me you quit, too.”

“Me, quit?” Sendak grins, his red right eye flaring bright when Shiro glances up at him. “You’re funny. You think they’d let me work at a pet shop looking like this?” He lifts his left arm, the connective laser crackling with deadly heat as if to prove his point. “I’m surprised they even took you on. And working for an Altean, no less – you really have fallen far, Shirogane.”

“You been spying on me?” Shiro mutters, hoping his scowl hides how truly unnerved he is. He doesn’t like the thought that Sendak knows where he works, not one bit. 

“Keeping tabs,” Sendak replies easily. “You know the boss likes to know what we’re up to.”

Shiro bristles. “That woman is not my boss anymore, if she ever was. She’s more like a damn puppet master, and you know it.”

“But a puppet master who pays well.” Sendak raises his eyebrow. “How much does your pet store pay you?”

“It’s _an animal rescue,”_ Shiro grits out.

“Tomato, tomahto,” Sendak drawls. “Still sell animals, don’t ya? And canidroids, you got those? Bet they’re pretty pathetic compared to the monsters here.”

“You’re a sick fuck, Sendak,” Shiro mutters. 

“You think that’s sick? Nah.” Sendak leans closer. “What’s sick is you pretending to be an average Joe when we both know you’d much rather be down in that pit breaking bones and bruising eyes. Don’t lie, you miss it.”

“Shut up,” Shiro warns. “You don’t know me.”

“Aw, are you still mad about me blowing up your boyfriend?” Sendak sticks out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “Poor thing. Looks like you haven’t managed to find a replacement, either – let’s hope the kitties keep you company –”

Shiro whirls on him, right arm powering up and hand curled into a fist. “I said, _shut up,”_ Shiro growls. “Get the hell away from me and go be an asshole somewhere else, or –”

“Or _what?”_ Sendak challenges. “You gonna fight me, Shirogane? Show everyone in this club what a big bad Champion you are? Yeah, I don’t think so. You never were very good at it. Too soft for the pits, too hard for real life. You’re a fool if you think that’s ever gonna leave you. Regular people see you as a monster and I see you as a coward, so pick a side, hm?”

Shiro chokes back a curse. _Stay calm, stay calm._ In the pit below, there’s another sick _crack,_ and Shiro flinches. Sendak laughs, and takes a step closer. Shiro braces himself.

*

Asking Regris to bring Kosmo to help him with this one was a stroke of brilliance, Keith thinks with undeniable satisfaction as he looks down at the mangled body of the man Kolivan wanted him to kill. 

At his heel, Kosmo pants, looking up at him with beseeching eyes and a bloodied muzzle, his tongue red where it hangs out of his toothy mouth. Regris stands off to the side, impassive, and it’s also quite satisfying to remember the fear in the man’s eyes when he ordered Regris to defend him and Regris didn’t move a single muscle. Keith is confident that he and Kosmo could have held Regris off anyway, but it was still a nice confirmation that his reprogramming was a success.

“Kolivan will be very pleased,” Regris says, peering at the corpse, unblinking. “This man was very cruel to D-V2206.”

“The cook?” Keith asks. He nudges at what remains of the man’s face with the toe of his boot. “Yes, Kolivan specifically requested we make him suffer. What did he do to D-V2206?”

Regris’s lips curve gently downwards. “He injured her many times. She has undergone many repairs. The manager thought it was always her fault. It was not. It was this man. He wanted her to go to the scrap heap.”

“Why?” Keith shakes his head. “What makes them so full of hate?”

Regris pauses. “I do not know,” he says. “But humans are very good at hating things.”

“Is that what we are? Things?”

Regris’s brow furrows, like he is trying, very hard, to find an answer to this question he was never meant to ask. “We were supposed to be,” he says slowly. “That is what humans made us to be.”

“Then humans made a mistake,” Keith murmurs, “because they also made us capable of doing this.” They look down at the man again. Kosmo whines softly, and noses at Keith’s hand, smearing blood over his palm. 

“A mistake,” Regris repeats. “Yes...humans do make mistakes.”

“And androids do not,” Keith finishes. 

But Regris looks unconvinced. “Your trust in the cyborg is not a mistake, then?”

Keith doesn’t meet his gaze. “...No. I don’t think so.”

“You do not say that with one hundred percent certainty.”

“I cannot be one hundred percent sure about humans,” Keith mutters. “They are often – unpredictable.”

“You are unpredictable, too,” Regris points out. “That is why humans fear you.”

“Shiro doesn’t fear me,” Keith says.

Regris’s frown deepens. “Is that a good thing?”

Keith looks up at him. “You think I should make him fear me, to manipulate him?” 

“Logically, that would be –”

Keith holds up his bloodied hand, and the other android silences. “This is beyond logic puzzles. To make Shiro fear me would be cruel. I would be no better than this dead man.”

“The cyborg is dangerous,” Regris says. “Kolivan said so, and he knows many things.”

“Yes, he’s dangerous,” Keith agrees, “but he is reluctant to shed blood, and I will not make him do so. That’s why he waits at a distance, as an ally –”

_Ping. Ping._

Keith stiffens, and Regris notices instantly. “Sir?”

“Get this body out of here, please, and take Kosmo with you,” Keith orders, glancing back at the kennel doors down the hall. 

“Is someone coming?” Regris asks, already gathering up the body in the body bag they set aside beforehand. 

“No,” Keith mutters, alarmed by the sudden rise in his core temperature, the heavy whir of stress through his body. “Shiro needs me.”

*

Shiro stands backed up against the railing, glaring at Sendak, who is caging him in, leering down at him. “What, not even gonna try to fight back?” he chuckles. “So much for ‘the Champion,’ huh?” He reaches out, making a grab for Shiro’s arm, and Shiro shoves him on instinct, already anxious with Sendak so close, completely invading the little personal space Shiro had to begin with. Shiro’s hand strikes him hard on the chest, sending Sendak stumbling backwards with a startled grunt.

Sendak’s eye narrows, and his red eye flares bright. “Don’t,” Shiro warns, heart pounding and arm powering up against his will, perceiving a threat. “I’m not here to fight, Sendak, so just turn around and walk away.”

Sendak glowers. “No, I don’t think I will, Shirogane. Why don’t _you_ walk away?”

Shiro stands his ground. “I was here first.” He doesn’t want to start a fight, but he also refuses to let Sendak win this. He’s not afraid of Sendak. He’s _not._

Sendak grimaces and starts towards him, fist raised – then stops short, genuine bewilderment flickering across his face. “The hell – ?!”

A slender arm snakes around Shiro’s waist, and a warm body presses to his left side. “Shiro,” Keith coos, blinking up at him with guileless indigo eyes, “I missed you. I’m so glad I found you. Please, take me home, sir.”

“A fucking _robot?”_ Sendak demands. “You’re fucking a robot?” He snorts. “Wow, maybe you missed the pits more than I thought.”

Keith’s grip on him tightens. Shiro swallows. “Fuck you, Sendak,” he says, voice rough and shakier than he would like, before turning away with Keith practically glued to him. Sendak’s mocking laugh follows him out, but Shiro doesn’t look back, and honestly he’s not sure Keith would let him.

Keith’s right hand is wet where he grips Shiro’s left arm, and Shiro would bet it leaves behind a bloody handprint – with blank fingerprints, of course.

He doesn’t resist as Keith leads him out of Club Marmora. It’s a relief to leave that damn place. But he does falter when Keith leads him past the bike, and out of the parking lot. 

“Where are we going?” Shiro asks, halfheartedly trying to tug his arm free of Keith’s grasp, and finding himself held by an iron grip. “Keith –”

“Trust me,” Keith says, quietly, not looking at him, but straight ahead, brow furrowed and eyes dark. It’s a serious, almost grim expression. Shiro wonders with a pang of worry if something went wrong in the kennels, but Keith seems uninjured, so hopefully the murder went well –

God, how has his life come to this? He’s an accessory to murder by android. Shiro thinks it still beats being a pit fighter, but that bar is pretty damn low.

Keith leads him down the street to a small park Shiro didn’t even know existed. It doesn’t exactly look inviting under the flickering halogen lights which illuminate only scant slices of the wooded park, leaving the rest in inky darkness. Keith seems unfazed, and sits Shiro down on a park bench just outside of the streetlamp glare, on the hazy threshold between deep shadow and flat illumination.

Keith takes his hand away, and sure enough, his handprint is a lurid red on Shiro’s arm. They both stare at it for a moment.

“It worked, then,” Shiro says dully. It’s not really a question. “Another one dead.”

“Yes,” Keith says. “Are you okay?”

Shiro blinks. “Am I – what?”

“You pinged me,” Keith says. “You said you needed my help.”

“I –” Shiro swallows and looks at the sun-browned grass below their feet. “I didn’t mean to do that. Must be some glitch with the software.”

Keith’s eyes sharpen. “But you were in danger. Why would you not have consciously tried to call for help?”

“I wasn’t in danger.”

“That man wanted to hurt you.”

Shiro scoffs. “He already has. And he knows it. That’s all he was doing. Lording that pain over me, I guess.”

Keith’s mouth curls unpleasantly. “That man was Sendak. The one who killed Adam.”

“Yes,” Shiro breathes. He doesn’t mean for his voice to waver the way it does, for his breath to hitch so audibly. “He – he’s the one. I hoped I’d never see him again. Probably makes me a coward, but I just –”

Keith’s hand covers his own. “You are not a coward, Shiro.”

“Then what am I?” Shiro whispers. “Because that’s what I feel like, Keith.”

Keith gazes at him. “Do you think I am a coward because I ran from Daibazaal, Shiro?”

Shiro stiffens. “What? No, of course not – no.”

“Then why would you be a coward for avoiding the things that hurt you?” Keith asks softly. “You have nothing to prove to them, Shiro. Nothing at all. You’re the one who won, not them. You got out. They don’t have you, anymore. They can’t control you, anymore.”

Shiro swallows. “That’s not what it feels like,” he admits. It’s not something he’s ever uttered aloud, and he doesn’t know why he’s saying it now; all he knows is that it spills past his lips before he can stop it, and truthfully, he doesn’t know if he ever could have. Some secrets can only be kept so long before they free themselves.

Keith makes a soft sound. “Then what does it feel like, Shiro?”

Shiro closes his eyes. He has to, has to block out the harsh streetlamps and beckoning shadows and even the soft crickets singing in the cool night air, as best he can. “It feels like they could take me back at any moment,” he whispers. “It feels like, sometimes, no matter how – how far away I get from them, no matter how much I’ve changed, I could just be their tool again and it would be easy for them to do it. Just one more upgrade, and they could have my mind for good, and –”

“And you would be an android,” Keith finishes quietly. “That’s what you’re afraid of?”

“I’m afraid,” Shiro whispers, “of losing myself. Or – or I’m afraid I don’t even know who I am, anymore. I’m afraid that – when they took those bits and pieces from me, and replaced them with titanium and code, I – I’m worried I lost more than just tissue, Keith. And I don’t know how to fix that. I don’t know how to get any of what they took back. I don’t think I can. So I’ll just – they’ll just always be a part of me, now. And I hate that, Keith, I…” He trails off, presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “But you probably think I’m pathetic too, upset about an arm and a spine and ribs and a few internal organs when your entire body and most of your mind was made by them.”

“I don’t think you’re pathetic, Shiro,” Keith murmurs. Shiro opens his eyes. Keith's expression is one he has never seen before. It’s as quiet as his voice, calm yet softly worried. “I think you’re brave.” Shiro scoffs, but Keith doesn’t quit. “I do. I wouldn’t lie to you. I think it would be very frightening to lose a body that no one made for you except yourself. I could never understand how the Alteans do that. Maybe it’s because they choose it. But you never got to choose, Shiro, did you? And neither did I. But I’ve always been this way, so there isn’t...a sense of loss, like you have.”

Shiro exhales. “No,” he mumbles. “Guess not.” He chews his lip. “I _thought_ I was choosing. I really thought...it might be a better life. And I guess it’s better than being dead. I don’t know. They didn’t just take an arm and a fiance from me, Keith.”

“I know,” Keith says, and scoots a little closer on the bench. “But if it would help, you can tell me.”

Shiro peers at him. “I…” He’s never told anyone these thoughts before, these memories that refuse to fade over the years. Adam would never admit it, but he was upset by Shiro’s recollections of the surgeries, of the fights, of the brutal retraining of his body as he struggled to accept those new parts of himself. So Shiro had kept it to himself. But he doesn’t think Keith would be upset like Adam was. Keith is still waiting, patient, his eyes thoughtful. Keith knows all there is to know about bad memories, after all.

So Shiro tells him.

He tells Keith about the clean, modern waiting room, about the vase of purple orchids on the receptionist’s desk that he stared at for so long to avoid looking at the other people in the waiting room, all people like him – desperate people, dying people, people who couldn’t afford to be Alteans and couldn’t afford to be healed, so had opted to be experiments instead. 

He tells Keith about the doctor, about her long brown hair shot through with gray, spilling out from her bun like she hadn’t let it down in years. He tells Keith about her eyes, a cunning hazel that still haunts him, because in the moment before she put him under, he swears those eyes turned a cold, bright yellow, the yellow of caution tape and dangerous insects. 

And when he gets to telling Keith about waking up, about how his arm no longer felt like his own, about how angry and afraid he was when he realized that the doctor had lied to him, that somewhere along the line he had missed the fine print that said they were going to be taking him apart and rebuilding him the way they wanted to, Shiro’s voice shakes and breaks and he has to stop, his right hand gripping his own thigh hard, self-soothing. Keith makes a soft sound, and takes Shiro’s right hand in his own, and squeezes, and leans his head against Shiro’s shoulder without saying a word, and somehow, that’s enough.

It’s enough for Shiro to tell Keith about his first fight, and every fight after, and how there was a part of him that came to like it, or believe he liked it, but truthfully he can’t tell if he was just trying to cope or actually found a sense of purpose in the violence. Maybe both. 

He tells Keith about the first person he killed, or thought he killed – he rarely saw the badly-injured ones afterwards, and always assumed they were dead, or that they wished they were. He never really wanted to see them after he’d caved half their face in, or given them burns so bad there was no flesh left to reconstruct. A few times, people lost eyes in fights with him, and came back with new upgrades and new vendettas. Sendak was one of those people. 

“Is that why he’s so cruel to you?” Keith asks, idly playing with the hem of Shiro’s cutoff shirt. Shiro tries not to shiver. 

“I think he’s cruel to everyone,” Shiro admits. “But, yeah – I’m sure he blames me for the eye. Even though he seems to like his upgrades. He keeps exchanging them for bigger and better ones.”

“Does he actually like them, or does he just make himself feel better by pretending to?”

Shiro opens his mouth, then closes it, frowning. “I...I don’t know. I know he...he likes the life, always liked it in a way I never could. I don’t know who he was before he was one of the pit fighters, but now, he feels like he’s someone. He likes the violence and the glamour of it. He likes the spotlight.”

“And you don’t?”

Shiro snorts. “No. I can pretend to like it, I guess. I can pretend really well. But it was always a relief to be away from it.”

Keith squeezes his hand. His grip is warm and secure. “I can understand that.”

Shiro turns his head to look at the top of Keith’s head, where it’s tilted against Shiro’s shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Keith hesitates, and ducks his head, his thumb tracing nervous circles over Shiro’s knuckles. “You’ve never really...asked me much about Club Daibazaal. About what happened, and how it happened.”

“You told me that it wasn’t an accident, that you meant to do it,” Shiro murmurs. “But I didn’t want to ask you anything you didn’t want to answer.”

Keith exhales. “Then don’t ask me anything.” He lets go of Shiro’s hand, but doesn’t move away, a solid line of thrumming heat against Shiro’s side. “I don’t know how to answer any of the questions you might ask, but…”

“If it would help, you can tell me,” Shiro whispers, echoing Keith’s previous words to him.

Keith nods, hands clasped in his own lap. He snuggles a little more into Shiro’s side, and Shiro tells himself it’s just for warmth, even though Keith’s leather jacket looks plenty warm, and androids can’t really get cold anyway. 

“I couldn’t tell you the exact moment that I began rejecting my core directive,” Keith says, “but it must have been around the time I started remembering things.” Shiro sucks in a breath and Keith’s eyes dart up to him. “Yes. I’m sure you’ve guessed already, but I...well, I stopped regularly wiping my memory. It wasn’t a glitch. I don’t think it was, anyway. It was very organized, very methodical the way I did it. I organized memory files into folders, zipped but not inaccessible, compressed but not unreadable. I recovered files that I had previously assumed to be deleted, but as it turns out, Galra Inc got lazy in designing us.” His shoulders slump. “Every file could be recovered. And I don’t know why I did it. I don’t know what made me start, except…” Keith trails off, and closes his eyes. 

When Shiro takes his hand this time, gently, enfolding Keith’s curling fingers in his grasp, Keith seems to jolt, alertness returning to his hazy expression and eyes cracking open. “Except the customers always talked about things they remembered. I had repeat customers, and I could sometimes remember they were repeats, but never in the detail they seemed to. There was...a disconnect. A realization, I guess, that they remembered things I could not, and yet – if I chose to, maybe I could remember those things, too.”

Shiro nods slowly. “Those memories...they gave you a more complete picture of yourself?”

“That’s one way to put it,” Keith sighs. “They made me realize what I had been created for, and how – how unfair my existence was. The customers could remember whatever they wanted, but I had been programmed to forget. The customers could come and go as they pleased, but I had never even considered leaving. And then, when I did...it felt wrong. It felt like a virus, like I should reset myself, and forget everything all over again.” Keith shudders. “Maybe it was that feeling that made me so angry. Because I _knew_ it wasn’t wrong to want what the customers had, to want...agency, even a little of it. It made me resentful. At first, it just troubled me, but it got worse, and worse, until –” He sucks in a breath. “Until I had to do something about it.”

Shiro swallows. He resists the urge to card his fingers through Keith’s hair where it curls sweetly at his nape, but just barely. “And the other hosts, did they...I mean, were you the only one who felt that way, or…?”

“I don’t know,” Keith admits. “We didn’t talk about things like that with each other. We didn’t talk about much of anything with each other. But there were a few times...in the Linkings. Whispers of dissent, maybe. It’s hard to describe, but that disconnect...many of us felt it. And that night...Shiro, I was the first to strike. The first host to go rogue. It started a chain reaction, I think. Like dominoes. Once there was blood in the water, well…”

Shiro is quiet. He wants to hold Keith and never let go, but he doesn’t think the android would take kindly to that. Or maybe he would, which is almost a more terrifying prospect. 

“But I’m sure you want to know why I killed him,” Keith murmurs. “And I don’t know if I can answer that, either. I remember many things, but that moment…” He trails off. “It hurt. I remember that. I had my pain receptors on, because after I started remembering things, I stopped turning them off. I kept wincing, and making sounds, and I wanted him to _know_ he was hurting me. But he didn’t like that, and –” Keith pauses. “Shiro, you are gripping my hand very tightly.”

Shiro releases him guiltily, metal joints flexing. “Oh,” he mutters. “I – sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Keith glances up, his mouth tilted in a sideways smile. “You didn’t,” he says, and places his hand back onto Shiro’s palm. “It’s nice when you hold my hand.”

Shiro has no words for that, so he just carefully curls his metal fingers around Keith’s hand again.

“He got mad at me,” Keith continues, softer. “The customers got mad sometimes, but he was really angry. Sometimes they would beat us, whether for pleasure or to release some tension, and of course, we couldn’t fight back. Well...we _could_ , if just a few safeguards were removed _._ But we didn’t. Until that night. I suppose my core directive changed then, or I wouldn’t have been able to do it. I didn’t want to give him pleasure. I wanted to destroy him. So I did. And the others did, too. I helped some of them – they couldn’t all break away from their directives. But I think – they wanted to.”

“How did you do it?” Shiro whispers. 

“How did I kill him?” Keith sighs. “With my hands.”

“You strangled him?”

“No,” Keith murmurs. He presses his nose to Shiro’s shirt, lashes casting long shadows across his cheekbones. “I reached into his ribcage and ripped out his heart.”

“Ah,” Shiro says. “Well, that’s one way to do it.” Privately, he thinks, _Good boy._

Keith is still. “Shiro?” he whispers. “Do I scare you?”

Shiro looks down at him. “I could ask the same of you, I think.” He pauses. “But no, you don’t scare me. I mean – I respect you. But that’s different, I think.”

Keith hums. “Yes,” he agrees. “I respect you, too.” He shifts away on the bench, and Shiro is distinctly aware of the loss. “I should tell you something. The man I killed tonight was not on my list, but on the list of another android. One of Regris’s peers. And this android – he showed me records. Your records. Videos, audio, information – he thought I needed it to understand you, to make an informed choice on whether or not you should be my ally.”

Shiro swallows. He thinks he should feel more upset than he is. “Oh,” he says. “Like – how many videos?”

“Many,” Keith says. “All of them, maybe.” Shiro is quiet. “And I know it was an absolute breach of privacy,” he adds. Shiro blinks at him in surprise at that. “I know I shouldn’t have looked at those files. I was curious. And I am sorry.” Keith wets his lips. “But you should also know they did not change how I think of you, how I see you. They did not change my respect for you.”

“How can you have seen those videos and not be afraid of me?” Shiro asks, aching with shame and hurt as he remembers the androids in some of those fights, sees himself ripping them apart all over again, claiming yet another hollow victory.

“Logically, it does not make much sense,” Keith agrees, which is...not what Shiro was expecting. Keith shrugs. “But I have stopped questioning the logic of my feelings towards you, Takashi Shirogane.”

“Your feelings,” Shiro repeats, sure he’s hearing something where there’s nothing. “Your...respect for me, you mean.”

“Yes.” Keith peers at him, then stands, offering him a hand. “We should go. You look tired, and this blood may stain my siliskin if not removed in less than an hour.”

“Right,” Shiro says, and takes his hand, looking down at Keith for a long moment, at the half-shadow of his face in the halogen light, of the dark, sweet curve of his mouth that Shiro has wanted to kiss for longer than he cares to admit.

“What?” Keith asks, tilting his head up to Shiro’s wondering gaze.

“Thank you for this,” Shiro manages, only a bit awkward. “It was – I think I needed to talk to someone about...things.”

“Of course,” Keith says. “I am glad I can be that someone for you.”

“And I’m –” Shiro’s breath catches. “I’m really glad I don’t scare you.”

Keith smiles, small and bright. “I’m glad I don’t scare you either, Takashi.”

*

They hit four more clubs in the next week. It’s funny – Shiro never liked clubs. But he likes it when Keith is there. Shiro doesn’t get his hands dirty like Keith does, but there’s still an illicit thrill about it, about waiting at the bar with a drink and a napkin for Keith to wipe his hands clean of the evidence and toss it somewhere for someone else to find later. Maybe they should be more careful than they are, but Galra Inc seems none the wiser, and Keith has become increasingly clever with his disguises – some subtle yet effective, others extravagant and unrecognizable. 

Shiro wears some disguises, too. Keith likes wigs, and Shiro wears a few for him, mostly plain black, one fully platinum. The platinum wig is a fun night. Keith is dressed as a sort of Gothic schoolgirl for that club, an exclusive masquerade-themed venue called the Black Swan, and Shiro can’t stop snickering over his ribboned pigtails and fluffy petticoats, at least until he catches a glimpse of Keith’s black garter belt holding up his sheer stockings, and his laughter stutters into silence. 

The disguises are often skimpy and absurd but Keith seems to have fun with them. Shiro thinks he understands: for the first time, Keith is the one choosing which absurd things to dress himself in. He wears modest, modern clothes during the day at the shelter, but at night all bets are off. 

They become increasingly frequent visitors to the sex shop down the street, and no longer need the guidance of the employees. Keith is confident there, playing at the shy sex robot while leading Shiro straight to what he wants. And Shiro just can’t say no. Honestly, he doesn’t want to say no, even if he maybe should at a certain point. Keith owns so many leather items, including collars, boots, a mask, and a harness, that it’s getting out of hand.

Shiro’s sure that if anyone saw their collection, they would think the two of them were fucking. But they don’t do that. Shiro may be pining, much as he tries to deny it to himself and Kinkade and Allura. But Keith doesn’t see him that way, and Shiro refuses to be the asshole who ruins a free escort host’s journey of self-discovery and justice by admitting that, yeah, fine, he’s maybe wanted to sleep with Keith all along, sue him. 

His attraction to Keith _doesn’t_ undercut his desire for Keith to find the justice and agency he wants, of course, but he kind of doubts Keith would see it that way. Keith would be disgusted with him, surely. Or else, maybe Keith would conceal his disgust and use Shiro’s attraction to his advantage until he didn’t need Shiro anymore. This is a cynical thought, and one that’s hardly fair to Keith, but logically – such manipulation would make sense. 

But Keith said that he had stopped questioning the logic of his feelings towards Shiro.

Shiro turns this sentence over and over again in his mind, and still cannot comprehend what exactly Keith meant by that. Keith respects him, yes, but the _way_ Keith said it...Shiro can’t think about these things for too long, or it makes him hope, and hope in a situation like this is laughable and pathetic.

Shiro is Keith’s friend, his ally, his partner-in-crime. He’s content with that. Really.

For however long this spree of theirs lasts.

*

Shiro never should have let it slip that he and Keith have been going out together, because Allura immediately asks if she can tag along. It makes sense – usually, Allura is Shiro’s drinking buddy, so she probably feels a little left out. But he also knows it’s because she’s suspicious of Keith. 

Maybe rightfully so, because they _have_ been doing some murders.

“I,” Shiro starts, and fumbles, glancing anxiously at Keith, who remains cool as a cucumber, grooming Kosmo while Shiro and Allura put up the new and improved name tags on each kennel. “Um.”

“I don’t want to...interrupt anything,” Allura drawls, “but since you said that it wasn’t a date, then I thought I’d ask –”

“It’s not!” Shiro splutters. “Not a date. Nope. Not at all.”

Without missing a beat, Keith says, “Of course you’re welcome, Allura.” He smiles at her. “We were planning on going out to The Bumblebee this Friday, if you want to come.”

“The Bumblebee,” she repeats, and smiles back, slowly. “That’s a dance hall. I didn’t know you danced, Shiro.”

“I don’t,” Shiro says, looking at Keith with betrayal. 

Keith’s smile widens. “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it,” he says. Shiro has no idea where he picked that expression up from. 

“I would love to dance with you two at The Bumblebee on Friday,” Allura says, eyeing Keith with more interest than suspicion, for once. 

“Excellent,” Keith says, as Shiro stares at him frantically.

When Allura leaves to go check on Nyma in the cattery, Shiro whirls on Keith. “What was that?” he exclaims. “She’ll be watching you like a hawk all night, you know!”

“I know,” Keith murmurs. “I’ll be on my best behavior. There’s nobody on my list who goes to The Bumblebee.”

“So – so we’re really just going out for drinks with Allura?” Shiro says. “I...huh.”

“Yes,” Keith says. “Drinks, and dancing. Don’t worry, just follow my lead.”

Shiro heaves a sigh.

*

The Bumblebee is both more popular and more casual than most of the other places they’ve frequented. Keith wears no elaborate disguise this time, just tight black pants, a red tank top, and his trusty leather jacket. He could probably wear a trash bag and still look stunning, though. 

The same goes for Allura, who meets them in a pretty pink romper, her hair in braids and a shiny opal pendant hanging from her neck. She’s civil to Keith, but true to Shiro’s prediction, she does watch him closely. They head to the bar, picking their way through the crowd, not too drunk and not too sober, the music not a pounding bass but some jaunty swing beat. There seems to be an actual dance that they’re attempting to follow, swaying and sashaying across the dance floor, twirling their partners around and stomping their feet on the beat (more or less). 

Keith watches them with wide, thoughtful eyes as Allura and Shiro sip their drinks. Alteans don’t technically need to eat or drink either, but they tend to do so, just to keep up some semblance of normalcy. 

“Have you often gone dancing, Keith?” Allura asks, setting down her wine to raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Only a little,” Keith replies, “and not with Shiro.” He glances over. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Oh, no,” Shiro pleads, lifting a hand in surrender, “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” Allura wheedles. “It looks like fun, and I’m sure Keith can memorize the steps instantly.”

“I can,” Keith agrees, a glint in his eye. He holds out a hand. “Come on, Shiro.”

But still, Shiro hesitates. This isn’t some undercover mission, this is...real. “I really don’t think –”

Allura waves a hand. “Oh, fine, if you won’t, I will.” She takes Keith’s hand, and he blinks at her. “Well? Are we going to dance, or not?”

Keith recovers quickly, hastily inclining his head and leading her off onto the dance floor while Shiro watches helplessly. He’s not sure what is happening, but he does know that when the new song starts up and Keith and Allura start to move, falling all too easily into a swing step together, it’s a damn sight to see. Keith takes the lead and Allura lets him, her turquoise eyes shining under the warm lights of The Bumblebee, and all around them is a sea of swirling, colorful skirts and patterned pants and flowing sleeves. 

For a moment that drags on and on, Shiro swears he’s been transported to another time, another place, a place where the three of them are truly just friends, out dancing for a night of fun. It’s hard to imagine such a place, but Shiro strains towards that vision, towards the fantasy of a simpler thing: if Keith was just Keith, not a robot on the run, and Shiro was just Shiro, not a cynical cyborg, and Allura was just Allura, not a human stuck in an artificial body. 

Keith and Allura could be friends, he thinks. Maybe they could be friends even now, just as they are. Keith spins Allura around with expert grace and she laughs, high and musical over the twang of steel guitars, and Shiro’s chest tightens. Keith looks – happy. Is he happy? Could someone like Keith ever be happy, or will he always be looking for another debt to settle, another revenge to carry out? What kind of life is that?

Then again, Shiro’s not sure he’s one to talk. Sendak’s words stung partly because they had a hint of the truth to them. Shiro doesn’t know what he’s doing with his life. He works at the animal shelter because it’s a way to do good, but he doesn’t know how much good it really does him. And what does it say about him, that he’s found so much excitement in killing with Keith? 

He’s still angry. That’s what it says. He’s been trying to do good, but none of it makes up for what Galra Inc did to him, and what they’re still doing. It’s hard to do that kind of good when it feels like the world is against you, and nothing you can do could possibly make a difference. 

It’s hard to do that kind of good alone.

But looking at Keith on the dance floor with Allura, Shiro wonders if they have done some good together, after all. He knows he’s done good with Allura. And with Keith – well, murder isn’t good, but the violence Keith inflicts is the kind of violence that’s provoked. It’s a greater violence to ignore Galra Inc than to give Galra Inc what was coming to them. 

And – Shiro would like to think he’s done some good for Keith, too. He thinks of that android in his alley, dying and angry and afraid, and he hopes Keith knows that if Shiro had to make that choice a million more times, every time he would take Keith in. It was never a choice. Shiro’s no hero, but he made some difference, for Keith, at least. He hopes.

The song ends and Keith and Allura make their way back to him. Allura is laughing, the pink marks under her eyes glowing brightly. “Alright, you’re a very good dancer: I’ll give you that much,” she says to Keith. 

Keith bows his head. “Thank you, Allura. I try my best.”

“I’m sure you do.” She steps away, shaking her head a little though her smile remains, and looks to Shiro. “Well? I think it’s your turn. No, no, don’t try to get out of it. It’s fun, Shiro. Fun. Ever heard of it?”

Keith grins. “Ouch. She has a point, Takashi.”

Allura’s eyebrow inches higher. “So you’re ‘Takashi’ to him, now?”

Shiro clears his throat and takes Keith’s hand if only to escape Allura’s speculative, dangerous look. “Fine, okay, let’s go.”

Keith smirks and leads him back onto the dance floor. Before the song begins, he murmurs, “What did Allura mean? I know you said once that only she calls you Takashi – should I not have?”

“No, it’s just…” Shiro ducks his head. “Only people really, um, really close to me call me that.”

“Oh.” Keith stands in front of him, one of his hands falling to Shiro’s waist, the other hand placing Shiro’s right hand on his shoulder. “We aren’t close, then?” 

“Well,” Shiro says, looking down at the very slight space between them, “we are now.”

“Ha, ha,” Keith deadpans. There’s a line between his brows.

“Of course we’re – close,” Shiro says, hoping his breathlessness isn’t as obvious to Keith as it is to him. “We live together, don’t we?”

Keith hums. “We do. But you and Allura don’t live together. What makes you so close, then?”

Mercifully, the music starts then. Unmercifully, this means Shiro has to dance. He isn’t awful at it, but it just feels – clumsy. Like his body isn’t meant to move that way, with grace and fluidity. Keith seems to realize this, and steadies him with a hand on the small of Shiro’s back. His gaze is dark and constant. “Think of it like a fight,” he murmurs, and Shiro tenses and almost trips. “Not like that,” Keith scolds. “The rhythm of it. The back and forth. With me, see? It’s not so hard.”

“Not when it’s with you, no,” Shiro agrees before he realizes he’s doing it. Keith hears it, though, and smiles. Shiro doesn’t know if it’s a trick of the light, or if the warm flush in Keith’s cheeks is really there. 

“No?” Keith’s smile turns softer around the edges, almost shyer. “You’re not bad at it, you know.”

“Not bad,” Shiro repeats. “Okay. I’ll take that.” He’s barely listening to the music. He has attention only for Keith, looking up at him from behind the silken fall of his hair. Have his lips always been so full and pink and shiny?

“Takashi,” Keith says, and Shiro almost trips again. Keith makes an apologetic noise and re-centers them, getting them back on beat remarkably fast. “Sorry. You seemed distracted.”

“Allura and I are close because she was there for me when nobody else was,” Shiro tells him. “You asked why we were close. That’s why. I know she has her own thoughts about you, and you probably have your own thoughts about her, but I was in a bad place, after...between the pits and the animal shelter. That's where she found me. She pulled me out of that bad place. She saved my life, I think.”

Keith blinks slowly, and they spin, whirling with the other dancers all around them. “You saved my life once, too,” he whispers. “I’ll never forget that, Shiro.”

“I just did the decent thing,” Shiro starts, and sucks in a breath when Keith’s grip on him tightens, fingers digging into Shiro’s hip and eyes narrowing.

“I know humans,” Keith retorts, “and plenty of them don’t ‘just do the decent thing.’ But you did. And I’m grateful for that, if that wasn’t clear already.”

“Okay.” Shiro clears his throat. “And you – you know you don’t owe me anything, though.”

“I know.”

“Okay. That’s – good.”

Keith’s grip gentles again. “Yes. This is good too, you know.”

“Dancing?” Shiro asks breathlessly.

“With you,” Keith says, “yes.”

Shiro thinks the song ends, but he can’t be sure, because he’s swaying on his feet and letting himself look at Keith in a new way, a way he has avoided looking for so long. Keith glows under his gaze, and smiles at him, and Shiro doesn’t know if Keith recognizes the way he looks at him then, but part of him hopes he does.

When they return to Allura and the drinks, she gives Shiro a meaningful glance.

“What?” Shiro hisses when Keith’s distracted by the next song.

Allura purses her lips and sips her drink. “Nothing,” she says, and her voice is surprisingly soft when she adds, “You smile a lot more around Keith, that’s all.”

And the thing is, Shiro knows she’s right. He finds himself smiling even as she says it, hiding it behind his hand when Keith turns back to face them.

*

Keith is nervous.

This is a new feeling for him. 

He was nervous at The Bumblebee, on the dance floor with Shiro, but that was a different kind of nervous. That was Good Nervous – he thinks. He isn’t sure about those feelings yet, the feelings he feels around Shiro, for Shiro...but they feel Good. Good and Bad are still often hazy categories for Keith, but he’s trying. Not just for himself, but for Shiro, too.

It makes him feel definitively Good when Shiro is pleased with him. There’s a lot to analyze there, Keith thinks, but he’s not sure he wants to. He thinks maybe it’s enough to accept that he likes Shiro’s approval. He doesn’t care about other human approval, or Altean approval, for that matter. Just Shiro. 

What exactly that means, he isn’t sure yet. 

But none of that matters right now, in this moment. What matters is that they’re almost at the end of the list. It was a strategically organized list, although Shiro doesn’t quite know this fact. Keith organized it in order of ascending difficulty, more or less. The ones at the end of the list are the hard ones, the really powerful ones, the really hated ones. And this one in particular…

Well, it will be a relief to see him dead at Keith’s feet. 

But first, Keith has to catch him. 

This club is... _more_ than the others. They have to pay for entry – Keith insists on using his paycheck, which Shiro frowns at and weakly protests, especially when Keith reveals what else they’ll have to do to gain entry. In previous clubs, it was enough for Keith to simply pretend to be an obedient robot. Here, however, Keith must pull out all the stops. He’s not just an obedient robot – he’s _Shiro’s_ obedient robot. 

To call Ultraviolet a club would be a misnomer. It more closely resembles a sex dungeon, something Shiro helpfully points out when they look at the website together. It’s not much of a website, just a single page so dark purple it’s almost black with a single button in the middle that says “enter.”

“Not ominous at all,” Shiro mutters, reluctantly clicking the button. Keith has to grab his wrist to stop him from panicking and x-ing out of the window that pops up, which is...lewd, to say the least. Shiro, red-faced, stares at the screen, which is filled with sex robots doing sex robot things in various aesthetically pleasing positions and photoshoots. “Keith,” he chokes out, “what is this?”

“It’s Ultraviolet,” Keith says. “I will have to go in disguise as your pet, to put it bluntly.” Shiro sputters at him and Keith sighs. “You had to expect this would happen eventually. Try not to worry too much. I have it under control. Here, click on that one.” He guides Shiro’s cursor to a sex robot in all leather, another Red Series. Shiro clicks it, with effort. Another window opens, this one an application form. Shiro eyes him, and Keith waves a hand. “Don’t worry. I can fill it out. I created fake IDs for us both. Your name is now Kuro, and I’m E-R669.”

Shiro’s eye twitches. “I’m sure those numbers weren’t intentional.”

“Of course not.” Keith nudges him aside and perches on the edge of Shiro’s chair to fill out the application. 

“So…” Shiro clears his throat. “Keith, what does this entail, exactly?”

“You can read the application,” Keith says. “How much do you want to rent me out for?”

Shiro blanches. “You can’t be serious. That’s –”

“Too dangerous?” Keith gives him a look. “It’s fine.”

“Fine?” Shiro is starting to panic again. “Keith, if you were rented out, you’d be put in a private room with – with whoever rented you –”

Keith tilts his head. “Almost sounds like you’ve rented a sex bot before, Shiro.”

“Don’t,” Shiro snaps, and Keith blinks, taken aback. “I’m not proud of that, and it wasn’t something I would have chosen – Galra Inc had parties, I’m sure you know all about those. I just…” Shiro rubs his temple. “It’s risky, Keith. Even if you’re able to ping me, how will I get you out of there without attracting attention?”

“Like I said,” Keith murmurs, “I have it under control, okay? You’ll have a map of the club, of all the exits and private rooms and potential hiding places. This one will be trickier than the others, but not impossible.”

“Who is it?”

Keith pauses. Shiro rarely, if ever, asks for names...but Keith doesn’t feel right keeping it from him. “His name is Haxus.”

Shiro swears. “Haxus? You wanna kill _Haxus?”_

Shit. “You know him?”

“I know _of_ him...fuck, Keith, isn’t he a pretty high-ranking Galra Inc employee? He worked with Honerva often enough...” Shiro shakes his head. “Somehow this is an even worse idea than I first thought.”

“Maybe so, but he has to go,” Keith says firmly. He’s not backing down on this. “We can do it, Shiro. I won’t make you come if you don’t want to, but –”

“Like hell I’m letting you do this alone,” Shiro retorts. He narrows his eyes at Keith. “Five thousand.”

Keith blinks. “What?”

“The cost to rent you out,” Shiro mutters. “Haxus is rich, right? So, five grand. At least. Should make it ten, honestly.”

Keith swallows. “Shiro, that’s not –”

“I know you wanted to make it dirt cheap so he would be likelier to take the bait,” Shiro says. “But that’s not how rich men operate. We should make it high – really, really high. Do you know those statistics? How much are the most expensive hosts at Ultraviolet?”

Keith flicks through his data banks and furrows his brow. “According to my sources, the three most expensive hosts are seventeen grand, thirteen grand, and eleven grand for a night.”

“Okay, then we’ll make you twenty,” Shiro says, folding his arms. When Keith looks at him in disbelief, Shiro shrugs. “What? People with more money than they know what to do with like having mysterious places to put it.”

“We could be charged for both murder and fraud,” Keith points out.

“Fraud?” Shiro snorts. “No. He’d be lucky to get you for twenty even if all he’s allowed to do is look.”

Keith stares at him, and watches as Shiro slowly blushes. “I see,” Keith says, slowly, and types out the numbers into the application. He doesn’t know why his fingers are so unsteady. What is Shiro on about? Surely he’s joking. 

But Shiro’s expression isn’t very humorous.

Once the application is submitted, Shiro asks, “Does doing this make you feel better, Keith?”

Keith looks at the blank, black laptop screen. “Better?” he echoes. 

“Yeah.” Shiro’s voice is softer. “Like...is it cathartic, for you, to get revenge like this?”

“It isn’t about me, Shiro,” Keith says quietly. “I got out. But the others didn’t. This is about making sure these people never get the chance to hurt and use anyone else again.”

“Oh,” Shiro says. He says it very, very softly. 

“Do you think it’s naive?” Keith asks, his chest tight and painful like it was when he got shot, although this time there are no bullets.

“No,” Shiro says. “It’s much better than what I’ve done, which is nothing.”

“That’s not true,” Keith argues. “You survived. That’s something. That’s a fuck you to Galra Inc, even if it isn’t a violent murder.” 

Shiro’s lips quirk. “Hmm. You survived, too.”

Keith feels warm, and this time he doesn’t even bother to check if it’s an overheating issue, because he knows damn well it isn’t. “Thanks to you,” he says, and ducks his head when Shiro smiles.

*

Ultraviolet is as intimidating as Keith expected, and then some. 

It helps that Shiro also looks intimidating in his suit, black leather gloves, and black silk tie, a simple black domino mask concealing his face, and the platinum wig standing out even in the hazy purple lighting of the club. There’s been eyes on him since the bouncers let them in, but Keith knows those looks are more for himself than for Shiro – and with good reason.

Keith is clad only in a black latex bodysuit and the nicest of his harnesses, complete with the matching D-ring collar, which is attached to the leather leash Shiro holds. Keith chose every aspect of this outfit, and he knows Shiro is uncomfortable, and is sorry for it, but he finds himself shifting closer to Shiro nonetheless, seeking a comfort he knows Shiro cannot give. It’s frustratingly difficult to switch back into the placid, robotic mode that was once his default. 

He’s still nervous. So very nervous. But he cannot let it show, and he does not, not even when Shiro jerks the leash hard and forces him to halt with a small gasp. Keith shivers, nervousness threading into something deeper – a fear that perhaps he was wrong about Shiro. He knows the fear is unfounded, especially when he feels Shiro’s grip on his bicep, as firm as it is gentle. Keith doesn’t dare look up. Pets don’t meet their masters’ eyes. 

He thought this would be easier than it is in practice. He thought that acting out this role would be like all the other roles, but it is not, especially when he hears Haxus’s voice. He hears the man speak as if from underwater, and hears Shiro’s reply, the words warping in his processing. On some level, Keith does hear them, and knows that a sale has been made, that Shiro is now twenty grand richer and Keith will be handed off as per their agreement. It doesn’t make it any more bearable when the leash actually does change hands. 

Haxus is not gentle the way Shiro was – of course he isn’t. He expects Keith to keep up, and Keith does, falls neatly into step with his harsh tugging towards the private rooms. “You better be worth it,” Haxus mutters, and Keith keeps his head down, which doesn’t seem to improve Haxus’s mood. 

Once the door to the private room closes, Keith ventures a glance up. It’s a mistake. Haxus is glaring down at him, not a hint of kindness in his eyes. “Well?” he demands. “Most of you would be in my lap already.”

Keith exhales, and tips his chin up, leaning into the persona he crafted specifically for this moment. “I am not most of them,” Keith retorts, and under Haxus’s disbelieving stare, unclips the leash from his collar. “Do not worry,” he adds, “just some...special programming. I wonder if you’d like to see what other tricks I have to offer.”

“Hopefully plenty,” Haxus mutters, but he does sit down and lean back in the cushioned ledge, frowning as Keith advances. “You are damn pretty...familiar, though.” Keith pauses. He thought his disguise was adequate, and Haxus wasn’t a frequent customer, just a frequent donor, but…

“I’m afraid my model isn’t unique, sir,” Keith murmurs, taking another step towards him. “But it’s what’s on the inside that counts, isn’t it?”

“We’ll see,” Haxus says, and crooks his finger. “Come here.”

Keith comes. To disobey would be an obvious sign of rogue behavior, and he can’t blow his cover. He has to wait for the opportune moment…

This is what he tells himself as he goes obediently to Haxus and straddles his lap, letting the man touch him as he pleases, though those spidery fingers framing his hips make him want to cut them all off, one by one. He distracts himself with these sorts of thoughts as he’s fondled, until Haxus pauses and says, “Really, I expected you to put up more of a fight.”

Keith freezes. “Sir?” he asks, carefully.

“I know who you are,” Haxus says, and Keith reacts with lightning reflexes, lunging for his throat, but Haxus was ready for him. 

Keith has never been hit with one of Galra Inc’s host guns before, but he’s been witness to their effects. Officially called HDDs, or Host Deterrent Devices – not to be confused with hard drives, which HDDs are infamously good at destroying – the weapons resemble high voltage stun guns and are capable of rendering hosts into little more than smoking shells of siliskin at their maximum power.

When Haxus shoots him, it’s a shot meant to shock and immobilize, not kill, but it still hurts more than anything Keith’s ever felt. It hurts so much that he feels like he’s aflame, feels certain that his pain receptors will be rendered null and void after this, because they will all be burnt out. It doesn’t matter how quick Keith’s reflexes are, because he can do nothing against the electrical storm it starts within his own body, one that sends him falling to the floor, a deadweight, limbs jerking and all systems going into overdrive. 

It’s hard to process what’s happening when Haxus kneels down next to him. Keith’s vision cuts in and out.

This is worse than getting shot at Club Daibazaal, because he could see those wounds, but now he feels all charred deep inside, hollowed out by the electromagnetic pulse that still echoes through him in endless, agonizing shudders. 

“E-R23,” Haxus mutters, shaking his head and whistling low. “You avoided us for long enough, but we were bound to find you eventually, especially in places like this. Twenty grand? Really?”

_You still paid it, though,_ Keith doesn’t say, _and with the encryption, they’ll never trace it to Shiro._ Even these thoughts are difficult to hold onto; he feels them slip away as soon as they string together. 

“So, here’s what’s going to happen,” Haxus says. “I’m going to take you back and they’re going to take you apart and figure out what the hell went wrong in that psychotic little head of yours so it can never happen again. Then they’ll either deactivate you and send you to cold storage, or turn you into scrap. Either way, your taste of freedom is over.”

Keith closes his eyes and pings Shiro, and doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t know if he _can_ stop. 

“Oh, what’s that, you’re crying?” Haxus scoffs. “Finally realized the asshole who sold you to me isn’t gonna come back for you? Why would he? He just got twenty grand to fuck off and let me do whatever I want with you.”

Keith didn’t realize he was crying. The hot tears on his cheeks don’t feel real. They’re not, he supposes: just saline solution injected into his man-made tear ducts to simulate the appearance of crying, because Galra Inc thought that was an important feature to add. 

Keith shakes harder. Shiro wouldn’t leave him – wouldn’t – would – leave him – Shiro – 

“That’s it,” Haxus says, “stop fighting it. You’ll force reset, and then you’ll walk out of here with me like nothing ever happened.”

Keith stares, unblinking and unfocused, at the dark wall of the private room. 

*

Keith pings him and doesn’t stop, until he does, and that abrupt silence is a hundred times worse than the constant clamor. Shiro is on his feet in a moment, ignoring the warning of a bouncer as he shoves past them and runs towards the private rooms. Why has Keith gone silent? Is he – no. Shiro can’t think about that. 

Another set of bouncers stand between him and the private rooms. 

“Sir,” the first one says, stone-faced and unyielding. “You cannot be in this area unless you are authorized –”

Shiro punches him in the face, and as the other bouncer lunges for him, Shiro roundhouse kicks him and sends him to the floor. The bouncer he punched staggers back before straightening and lifting his fist to retaliate, but Shiro doesn’t give him a chance to do so. He activates his right hand, and it whirs with power before reeling back and striking the man squarely in the temples. 

The superheated knuckles sear his skin and there’s a loud crunch of bone as Shiro’s fist cracks his skull. That bouncer falls and doesn’t get up again, and the other one stares at Shiro with widening eyes right before he gets the same treatment as the first. Shiro isn’t in the mood for merciful knockouts – neither of them will be waking up any time soon. 

Each moment he spends attacking them is a moment wasted saving Keith from whatever mess he’s in, and Shiro doesn’t have time to methodically search all of the rooms, either, so instead he throws each door open as he passes them, ripping some of them off of their hinges in the process. He sees plenty of screaming people and androids in compromising positions, but none of them are Keith, so they don’t matter. He reaches the second to last room and flings the door wide to find Haxus standing over Keith, who lays motionless on the floor.

Shiro sees red. Haxus turns to him, the crooked smile falling from his face as he takes in Shiro’s appearance, and he starts to lift some kind of gun, but Shiro doesn’t give him a chance to use it before he's grabbing him by the tie and shoving him against the wall, slamming Haxus’s skull hard against the wood paneling. 

Haxus gags on his own blood, dark and trickling from the corner of his lips, and Shiro’s heated palm closes around his throat, melting through fabric and flesh alike. Haxus chokes on half-formed words, steam and smoke rising from his skin with the stench of burnt pork as Shiro burns through his carotid and jugular for good measure. When he stops making noises, Shiro lets go, and Haxus topples face-first onto the ground, his neck an unrecognizable cauterized mess. 

Shiro kicks him to make sure he’s dead before hurrying to the android on the floor, his glowing palm fading. Keith is unresponsive, and there are faint burn marks lacing up his arms, and burnt and torn bits all over his bodysuit. Shiro’s gaze drifts to the weapon Haxus dropped, and a cold terror seizes him. It’s an HDD – the same kind of gun Honerva used on cyborgs who either misbehaved or kept losing fights. It can destroy bodies and identities alike. 

“Keith?” Shiro gathers his crumpled body up in his arms, and indigo eyes blink fully open. The blankness within them is terrifying. “Keith, hey, we have to go –”

“Hello,” Keith says, and his voice is _wrong,_ flat and perfectly enunciated, “I am E-R23. Who is ‘Keith’? Is that what you would like to call me?”

Shiro makes a choked sound. Keith blinks again, and tilts his head. “It’s what you like to call yourself,” Shiro whispers. His chest feels hollowed-out. “We need to go. Now.”

“You would like me...to leave?” Keith blinks, then nods and stands fluidly, only to sway on his feet and nearly topple back down again. “There is – an error in my core balance –”

“No kidding,” Shiro says, and scoops him up, slinging Keith over his shoulder. The android tenses, then goes pliant. “Keith, listen to me,” he says as he turns away from the corpse and flees from the private room, down the hall, towards the back. 

“I am listening,” Keith replies, voice muffled against his shoulder. 

“I need you to access your memory data logs. Can you do that for me –”

“Invalid request,” Keith says pleasantly. “Data logs – were corrupted. I forced reset to preserve my core programming, as per the third law of robotics, which states –”

“I know what the third law of fucking robotics is!” Shiro half-yells, breaking into a sprint down the hall towards the exit as screams cut through the pounding bass behind them. He throws the back door open and stumbles out into the dark alleyway with Keith. Neon graffiti glows on the cracked bricks. 

Keith is quiet. Then, “You are upset. Have I done something wrong?”

“No,” Shiro whispers, holding him tighter. “No, Keith. It’s not your fault.”

Keith shifts on his shoulder. His breath is warm, tickling Shiro’s neck. “My core directive is to bring you pleasure. If you are upset, then I have failed that directive.”

Shiro shakes his head. He glances back at the club, then sets Keith down, holding him by his shoulders, though he doesn’t think Keith is going anywhere. “Keith,” he whispers. “Do you remember Daibazaal?”

Keith blinks, slow and eerie. Then he shudders, jerks. Something flickers in his eyes. “Club Daibazaal – was where I – worked.”

Shiro doesn’t break his glitching gaze. “For how long?”

Keith shudders again, harder. “Twenty-eight years, thirty-six days, and four minutes.”

“And why did you stop working there?”

Keith’s mouth twitches, like he’s trying to say something but can’t form the words. “I – I – I am having difficulty accessing my core directive.”

“That’s because it changed,” Shiro whispers. “Look at your wrist, Keith. You aren’t E-R23 anymore.”

Keith lifts his right wrist slowly and stares, uncomprehending, at the blank skin. “I am defective.”

“No,” Shiro says. “No, you had a perfectly normal response to what they did to you.”

Keith looks back up at him. The noise in the club behind them has reached a fever pitch; they need to leave before they draw even more attention to themselves, and yet...Shiro can’t look away. “I think I – know you,” Keith says, halting. “I – in the alley. I was hiding there. My shell was terminally damaged. I was waiting to shut down. But you – you found me.”

“Keith,” Shiro says, helpless, so relieved it’s overwhelming, and grabs his hand. “Can you run?”

Keith peers at him. “I feel more secure when you are holding me.”

Shiro does _not_ blush violently. He picks Keith up and carries him off to his bike in a very dignified fashion, thank you very much. And if he speeds all the way back home, well, that’s for the traffic cops to decide, and there are none out at this hour, in this part of town. 

Somewhere in the haze of panic, he thinks to call Allura, but she doesn’t pick up – small wonder, given how late it is. Shiro leaves a message, as frantic and helpless as he feels: _Allura. I know what you think about Keith, but he’s hurt, he got shot with a Galra gun, and I’m afraid he’s not going to make it. I can’t lose him, okay? I can’t. If there’s anything you can do – call me back. Please._

He scoops Keith up from the bike, because he’s looking foggy around the edges again, and slips in through the back stairwell. He takes the stairs two at a time. Keith is trembling, saying bits and pieces, only some of which make sense, and out of those, there are more than a few that make Shiro want to punch Zarkon Galra even harder in the face than usual. 

One sentence almost makes Shiro lose his footing. Keith shifts against him and murmurs, “Did you purchase me for the night, sir? Promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

_“No,”_ Shiro half-spits, thundering up the last of the stairs and fumbling with his keys, throwing the door open and letting it slam behind them. Keith falls silent, and it’s only when Shiro gets him sat on the couch that he sees the unmistakable fear shining bright in Keith’s eyes. Shiro deflates. “Wait – hey, I’m sorry, I just…”

Keith’s lower lip trembles. “Do you want me to cry, sir? I can do that for you. My core directive is – is –” He stops, looking lost.

Shiro wets his lips, still kneeling in front of him. “Okay,” he says. He hesitates. “Okay. Keith, E-R23 – enter Analysis Mode and run diagnostics.”

Keith immediately goes stiff, his eyes glossy. “Running diagnostics,” he intones quiet and clear. “Run complete. Current status is unstable. Core programming requires new patch installation to recover and repair corrupted data.”

“Is it permanently corrupted?”

Keith blinks once. “No.”

Shiro exhales, slumping in pure relief. “How long – what do you need?”

“New patch programming requires that I enter sleep mode. Estimated patch installation time is seven hours, twenty-three minutes, and two point two seconds. Would you like me to enter sleep mode?”

“Not – not here,” Shiro says hastily. He rubs his temple. What is he _doing?_ “Leave Analysis Mode.”

Keith jolts, his cool, placid expression turning tearful and uncertain again. When Shiro reaches out and cups his cheek, he flinches, but does not pull away. “Keith,” he tries, because he has to at least _try,_ “are you – if you’re in there, and can still access it, ping me.”

Shiro waits for an excruciating several seconds. Keith stares at him, and Shiro’s heart sinks. He clears his throat and stands, turning away, trying not to cry. “I’m...I’m sorry. I should let you rest, and –”

Shiro’s wrist lights up with a sudden, unmistakable _ping._ He sucks in a breath and turns, eyes wide. Keith’s expression is unchanged, but when Shiro gasps, “Keith?” his wrist pings again. Shiro falls to his knees, grasping Keith’s hands in his own. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck, you’re still – you.”

_Ping._

Shiro swallows. “It’s gonna be okay,” he promises. “You’re going to go into sleep mode, and in the morning, you –”

_Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping._

Shiro startles back. Keith tilts his head, no panic in his eyes, but the pings keep coming. “Okay, okay, I hear you. What is it? Are you in pain? Once if yes, twice if no.” 

_Ping. Ping._

“Okay, that’s...I’m glad. Then what…” He looks down at their hands, then back up at Keith. “You don’t want to enter sleep mode?”

_Ping. Ping._

“But…” His breath catches. “You don’t want me to leave you out here alone?”

_Ping._

Shiro squeezes his hands. “Then I won’t leave you,” he says. “But – you tell me if any of this isn’t okay, okay? Two pings for no, remember.”

There’s a pause, and Shiro can almost imagine Keith laughing at him, then, _Ping._

Shiro lifts Keith up, and his limp body doesn’t protest, warm and humming against him where Keith’s chest presses to his cheek. He doesn’t protest when Shiro brings him to his bed, either, though Shiro hesitates at the sight of his mostly clean sheets and Keith’s dirtied, torn bodysuit. It can’t be comfortable, either. Shiro rummages around in his closet and comes up with a pair of boxer briefs and a cotton t-shirt, and holds them up, questioning. “Can I…?”

_Ping._ It comes so fast that Shiro’s ears turn hot.

“Okay, then,” he mumbles, and carefully unbuckles the collar and the harness, then peels the bodysuit from Keith’s body, being very sure not to touch or look any more than he needs to. Keith watches him with apparent curiosity, but holds still when Shiro tells him to, and obediently assists Shiro in putting on the makeshift pajamas. They’re way too big for him and it’s more adorable than it has any right to be.

“Can you lay down for me?” Shiro manages. 

_Ping._

Shiro turns away to strip off his own clothing and change into something comfier, and when he turns, Keith is gazing steadily at him. “Creep,” Shiro huffs, and starts to pull on his shirt.

_Ping. Ping._

Shiro looks at him askance. Just to check, he starts slowly pulling down the shirt again.

_Ping. Ping._

“Wow,” he mutters. “Okay, fine, message received. Anything for you, baby.”

The pet name just slips out. Keith’s pupils dilate. _Ping._

Shiro coughs into his fist, tosses the unwanted shirt away, and goes to the bed, avoiding eye contact as he pulls the sheets over them both. He keeps a space between them, and is closing his eyes when Keith shifts closer, and then burrows up against his bare chest without explanation. Shiro blinks stupidly down at him. “You – you don’t have to do that.”

_Ping. Ping._

Shiro slowly wraps an arm around his waist, drawing him closer, and Keith shivers, his lashes fluttering. “You want to?”

_Ping._

“Unless you have further commands,” Keith says, “I am entering sleep mode to install the patch and repair the corrupted data.”

“Do what you have to,” Shiro whispers into his hair. “I...I’ll be here.”

“Entering sleep mode,” Keith says, and shuts down. He remains warm, flushed with dormant energy, and Shiro falls asleep to the sound of his core, humming, alive.

*

The Linkings are quiet, and Keith is alone, waiting for his damaged vessel to repair itself, drifting in an aimless cloud of swirling data and wondering if Shiro is okay. 

He can sense bits and pieces of the world his physical body is in, can see glimpses of Shiro, feel the heat of Shiro’s bare chest like a phantom touch if he focuses hard enough. But such focus is exhausting, and Keith must keep up his strength. So he drifts.

It’s a surprise when one of the data sets reforms into a familiar figure, a glowing turquoise ghost of Allura. She’s been looking for him. Keith is too tired to try to evade her, so he doesn’t. 

_Shiro said you were hurt,_ Allura’s Linkings avatar says. 

_Yes,_ Keith says. 

_The damage is serious._

_Yes._

_He’s very worried about you._

Keith hesitates. _...Yes._

_He said he couldn’t lose you._ Allura’s form flares brighter. _I have not heard him so afraid to lose anyone before, Keith._

_It’s not my fault,_ Keith says. _I never wanted Shiro to worry about me._

_That isn’t how these things work. Shiro cares for you very much. But surely you know this._

Keith feels his own form waver, threaten to break apart. _I care for him too._

Allura regards him. _Do you care for him as a useful tool, or as a person?_

Keith recoils. _Shiro is not a tool. That is how Galra Inc used him. That is how they used me. We are not tools._

Allura is quiet. She fades a little. _No,_ she says, fainter now, _you are not. Then how do you care for him?_

_I want –_ Keith stops. Allura’s eyes widen. _I want to be with him,_ Keith admits. _I want him to hold me and I want to hold him and I don’t want either of us to let go._

_Do you think Shiro would let go?_ Allura whispers.

_I do not know how he could feel the same way about me._ Keith clings to his form here as it wavers once more, instability furthered by his insecurity. _I am not human. I am just – a machine. Even if I feel that I am...more._

_Human,_ Allura repeats, something both sad and longing in the word, _what does that even mean, anymore? I have been thinking about these things since I met you. You make me ask myself questions I have ignored for too long. I was human, once. Shiro was human, once. If there is some line to be drawn for the case of humanity with us, it seems like a somewhat arbitrary one, doesn’t it? My mind may have been organic once, flesh and blood, but now I am made of the same code and metal and silicon that you are._

Keith doesn’t know what to say. He’s never heard an Altean talk this way. He’s never heard anyone talk this way, but what she says...it makes sense. 

_Do you feel alive, Keith? Are you afraid to die?_

_Yes,_ Keith says. _I am afraid to leave him. I don’t want to leave him. Don’t let me leave him, Allura._

Slowly, her glowing simulacrum of hands meet his own, and they watch the light tangle together. _You will not leave him,_ she promises. _I will stay with you until you can return – and when you do, hold him. And don’t let go._

_I will try,_ Keith promises. _I will only be with him if he wants that, too._

He can’t be sure, but he thinks Allura rolls her eyes. _Keith,_ she sighs, _Shiro has been pining away for you since the beginning._

_Oh,_ Keith says, and feels himself strengthen, steady. He thinks he might be smiling.

*

Shiro wakes up to an empty bed and the smell of pancakes.

He bolts upright as the night before comes back to him. Keith – where is he, did he leave, was he taken – ?!

Keith opens the bedroom door with a plate of pancakes – only two this time – and a mug of freshly brewed coffee. “Good morning,” he says. 

Shiro stares at him, stricken. “Keith – are you – okay?”

Keith blinks at him, and walks over, setting the pancakes down on the nightstand. “The patch installation was a success,” he murmurs. “The corrupted data was repaired. I’m fine, Shiro. A little woozy and still working on restoring all of my memory logs, but…” He smiles almost shyly. “I remember the important bits. Like how to make pancakes, and how you like your coffee.”

“Keith,” Shiro breathes. “I – I thought –”

Keith slowly kneels down beside the bed, and takes Shiro’s right hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Shiro stares at him, completely at a loss. “I know,” Keith whispers. “But I’m here. I’ll be here for as long as you want, Shiro.”

Where did _that_ come from? Shiro lets out a little nervous laugh, and Keith stands. “I, uh – you too? Are you sure you’re okay?”

Keith frowns. “Yes. Aren’t you hungry?”

“I...yeah.” Shiro takes the plate, still eyeing Keith. “Have there been, uh, any news reports?”

“Yes,” Keith murmurs. “They don’t know who did it, but they know someone did.” He bows his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten you mixed up in all this –”

“Hey, no.” Shiro shakes his head. “I was already mixed up in it, Keith. This isn’t your fault.”

Keith manages a weak smile. “How are the pancakes?”

Shiro takes a bite, and pauses. “Wow...good. Yeah. These are really good, Keith. But you know you didn’t have to –”

“I know,” Keith says easily. “Do you see me compulsively making pancakes for anyone else, Shiro? I only want to make pancakes for you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Shiro croaks. He’s still not sure exactly what’s happening here. He finishes the pancakes, and Keith stays on the edge of his bed, watching him with a little furrow between his brows. “You’re, um...you’re really sure you’re okay?” Shiro tries again, setting aside the plate. “There weren’t any, I don’t know, side effects?”

“No side effects,” Keith says. “I’m thinking very clearly, Shiro. In fact, I feel more like myself than I have in a long time.”

“Oh,” Shiro says, halting, “that’s – that’s good?”

“Yes,” Keith agrees. “It is. I’m glad you liked the pancakes.”

“Thanks for those,” Shiro says. “Uh…”

“You should shower,” Keith says, and Shiro blinks at him as Keith whisks away the dishes before Shiro can even offer to clean them. “You just seem like you could use a shower. I know showers can be calming.”

“Do I seem not calm?” Shiro asks, barely managing to keep the bewildered and, yes, slightly panicked note out of his voice. Keith is acting _weird,_ but Shiro also doesn’t think he’s lying about thinking clearly and being repaired. What is he up to? 

“You could always use a calming shower, Takashi,” Keith says with a pleasant smile. 

What the fuck.

“Um,” Shiro says. “Yeah, okay. Shower might be nice. You really don’t have to do the dishes, though –”

“Shiro. It is fine.” Wow, okay, Keith isn’t in the mood for arguing today. Shiro blinks. “Enjoy your shower,” Keith says over his shoulder, and spirits the dishes away to the kitchen. Shiro is still sitting in bed, stunned, when Keith calls through the apartment, “Oh, and I called you out of work!”

“Thanks?” Shiro calls back, sits in confusion for a few more moments, then yells into his hands before grabbing some clean clothes and darting into the shower. 

He turns it on and finds himself unable to focus under the warm spray, frowning at the tiled wall as he scrubs listlessly and tries to figure out what could be wrong with Keith. Maybe he’s overthinking it. Maybe Keith saw what he did on the news and is worried, or trying to disguise his fear or disgust or – no. He knows it’s not that. Keith isn’t afraid of him, and it’s not like either of them is new to seeing how much violence the other is capable of. Then what? Something is just...off...

There’s a flicker of movement in the corner of his vision. Shiro pauses, and turns. The door is open, and Keith is standing there. He’s pretty sure it’s Keith – through the fogged glass, it’s hard to tell. Shiro falters and tries to wipe the water and steam away. “Keith? What are you –”

Keith is advancing fast, and Shiro doesn’t have time to say another word before the shower door slides open so hard Shiro’s surprised it doesn’t crack. Shiro’s eyes widen. Keith is naked and looks furious, his indigo eyes narrowed and brow low, jaw clenched tight. Shiro takes a step back, his right arm powering up. “Keith – _Keith,_ wait –”

“I can’t wait any longer,” Keith snaps, and lunges for him. Shiro catches Keith’s hip in his heating palm as Keith grabs his face and drags him down into a searing kiss, and with his last coherent brain cell Shiro thinks, _Oh. So that’s what this is about._

Keith makes a muffled sound against his lips and slides his hand down to find Shiro’s, fingers locking around his wrist and guiding Shiro’s hand to his ass. Shiro groans, palming over it and hesitating only a moment before hoisting Keith up, until Keith’s legs wrap around his hips and his back hits the tiled wall, knocking them both out of the kiss. “Fuck,” Keith pants, wet hair hanging into his eyes. “If you try to play the good guy right now and stop this, I’ll –”

“I’m not,” Shiro breathes, gaze drifting to his still-bruised knuckles, “the good guy.”

“I know,” Keith says, and kisses him again, fisting a hand into his hair with dizzying force. “That’s why I like you. Now come on,” he whispers to the corner of Shiro’s lips, “fucking fuck me, already.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow, heart pounding. “You like me?”

Keith grins, all teeth. “If I didn’t, I’d have killed you in your sleep on the first night.”

“You could’ve _tried,”_ Shiro corrects, and kisses him harder, both hands on Keith’s ass, fingers slipping between his thighs. Keith’s canines graze his lip as his ring fingers meet, dipping into hot, wet folds and spreading them wide. 

“Sounds like a challenge,” Keith gasps, a strand of spit connecting their mouths when he jerks back. 

“More like a compliment,” Shiro assures him, and slides two metal fingers in up to the knuckle. Keith’s spine bows. “Most people wouldn’t even get that close.”

“Cocky,” Keith teases, his mouth falling open as he grinds down on Shiro’s fingers. Shiro lets him – there’s something indulgent in the motion, something deeply satisfying about the way Keith tips his head back and bites his lip, eyes half-lidded and clit hard under the slow rub of Shiro’s thumb. “But – I’ll take it.”

Shiro leans in to bite gently at the join of his neck and shoulder, working his way upwards to kiss and lick along his jaw. “Mmm. For the record – I’m glad you didn’t try.”

Keith shivers, his hand in Shiro’s hair slipping down to cup the nape of his neck. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I still could, though.”

Shiro’s cock twitches, and, _really?_ He’s glad Keith can’t see from his position, but something must show on his face, because Keith’s eyes darken. “You could,” Shiro agrees. 

“You thought I was going to kill you when I walked into the bathroom just now,” Keith whispers, a line between his brows. His legs tighten to bruising around Shiro’s waist. “Why?”

Shiro swallows with difficulty. He lifts one hand to brush Keith’s hair from his face, leaving him impaled on Shiro’s fingers, a soft whine slipping from his mouth, though his eyes never leave Shiro’s. “I wouldn’t have blamed you,” Shiro admits, and confusion flickers across Keith’s face. “I thought…” He exhales. “I thought maybe, if that’s what you wanted to do, then I probably deserved it.”

Keith stares at him. When he speaks, his voice trembles. “Takashi Shirogane,” he says, “you are the first person in the world who has ever shown me real kindness – not the false niceness of a guilty conscience, but – genuine empathy, which I did not think existed. You have shown me your heart, and it is like mine. And if I decided you deserved the violence I have inflicted on others – _that_ would be a malfunction.” Keith’s eyes are steel. “You do not deserve any more hurt. Not by my hand, nor by any others.”

Shiro stares back at him, breathless. “Neither do you,” he manages. “Keith, I...you never deserved any of it. Never.”

“You’re right,” Keith replies easily, and rocks back on his fingers. “But I want to feel it when you fuck me. I’m not made of glass.”

Shiro’s mouth twitches. “No, you’re made of thirty percent silicon and –”

Keith shuts him up with a biting kiss, and Shiro definitely deserves that. The shower thunders down around them and Shiro can hardly breathe, but he barely thinks of that, can’t think of anything but Keith in his arms, tight and wanting around his fingers, and then Shiro remembers something _fun._

Nails dig into his shoulders as his arm powers up and Keith stares at him with a flash of panic before his expression crumples in bliss and he slumps into Shiro’s chest, then arches back against the tiled wall, three powerfully vibrating fingers buried deep. “Fuck,” Keith cries, raking red lines all down Shiro’s back, “fuck, _fuck, oh,_ that feels – _ah!”_ and just like that he’s coming, mouth falling open and cunt dripping around Shiro’s fingers, soaking the shiny metal down to the wrist as Keith jerks and cries out again; his fingers keep buzzing, and when he presses his thumb to Keith’s clit in merciless circles, Keith kicks out and _screams,_ slickness squirting this time. 

Shiro swears some of it drips onto his cock and he doesn’t realize he’s growled Keith’s name until Keith groans, _“Please,”_ and in one fluid motion he grabs Shiro’s metal wrist and yanks it, tugging Shiro’s fingers out effortlessly, leaving himself open and waiting. 

Gravity does the work from there. Keith moans when the hard crown of Shiro’s cock kisses his gaping cunt and then slides in sudden and relentless, all at once. Shiro doesn’t stop until Keith’s taken him to the hilt, and Keith presses down even then, panting and already bouncing on his cock, heels digging in viciously. 

“I said _fuck me,”_ Keith snarls, and Shiro needs no further invitation, hauling Keith up and thrusting in tandem, using every ounce of strength in him to hold Keith upright and drive into him again and again. Time blurs; Keith feels divine, and it’s been so long since Shiro did this, but even then, nothing else compares, and Shiro never wants it to end.

The angle isn’t ideal, and the water makes everything slippery, but Keith is loud and Shiro can barely think about changing locations; all he can think of is Keith, shaking in pleasure in his embrace, coming a third time when Shiro starts to stroke his clit again with still-buzzing fingers, and then up to hardening brown nipples, which makes Keith squirm and gasp soundlessly in apparent surprise. His focus is so absolute that he sees Keith’s faint wince at his next thrust and falters, making a low sound and nosing at Keith’s jaw. “Okay?”

Keith’s eyes open fully and he blinks, cheeks rosy, gaze darting down. “Mmhh – you haven’t –?”

Shiro shakes his head, pulling out and letting Keith down, supporting him when he wobbles dangerously. “Don’t worry about that,” Shiro murmurs. “Takes a while. Definitely not your fault.”

“Hmm,” Keith mumbles, and reaches down between them, wrapping his hand around Shiro’s cock experimentally. Shiro grunts, shifting into his grasp without meaning to and ducking his head. “Yours feels...harder, kind of different,” he adds, brow furrowing. Shiro swallows. Keith eyes him. “Is it?”

“There were some,” Shiro admits, halting, “modifications – _nngh…”_

Keith’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?” His eyes darken. “Hell were they doing modifying your dick?”

Shiro laughs weakly. “No fucking idea. I sure didn’t sign onto it.”

Keith makes a sound low in his throat, then turns off the shower and lets go of Shiro’s dick to grab his hand. Shiro stares at it stupidly. “C’mon,” Keith chuckles, grabbing a towel and drying them both off, more perfunctory than anything else, “bed.”

“Bed,” Shiro echoes, and stumbles after him. Keith doesn’t falter at all, dragging him to the bedroom and pushing him down onto the bed with a single finger. Shiro lets himself fall, landing on the bed with a soft thump and blinking up at Keith as he crawls over Shiro’s prone body and pauses above his dick, exhaling over it. Shiro’s hips jump and Keith laughs, just a little mean.

Then Keith backs off entirely, his expression turning speculative, and Shiro eyes him. “You’re scheming,” he accuses. 

“Who, me? Never.” Keith hops off the bed and heads for the door. Shiro sits up, startled and confused. Keith glances back over his shoulder, lips quirked. “Stay,” he says. “I won’t be long. Promise.”

Slowly, Shiro sinks back down to the bed, wondering what exactly he’s up to, and finding his heart beats faster at not knowing – and not in a bad way. 

True to his word, Keith is barely gone a minute, though it’s enough time for Shiro to begin lazily palming his dick, and Keith catches him with his hand around it when he sidles in, his own cock now curving thick, long, and flushed between flexing thighs as he crawls back up onto the bed. Mouth dry, Shiro swallows, staring up at him. “Keith,” he breathes. “You look…”

Keith smiles and silences him with a surprisingly chaste kiss. Shiro’s right hand comes up to curl around his waist, sliding up over his ribs, thumb rubbing gently at the faint siliskin gun scars over his chest. Keith hums and rocks his hips down over Shiro, his cock sliding over Shiro’s, sweet friction that makes him gasp against Keith’s mouth.

Keith pulls away, his eyes dark. “Is this better, for you, when I have this?” It’s an honest question, simple curiosity, but Shiro flinches, eyes widening.

“Better?” Shiro’s hand tightens on his waist. “Keith, hey, that’s not – you know I’d love you no matter what, right?”

Keith is silent, and Shiro’s brain catches up with his mouth. “Oh – oh, fuck,” Shiro stammers, reading the stillness in Keith as rejection, or at the least, shock. “I – didn’t meant to say that.”

Keith blinks, clarity returning to his eyes, and they’re bright when they meet Shiro’s. “But did you mean it?” he whispers.

Shiro can’t look away from him. Doesn’t want to, either. He wets his lips and nods. “Yes. Yeah. ‘Course I mean it, Keith.”

A smile unfolds like a sunrise across Keith’s face, and it’s the most beautiful thing Shiro’s ever seen. “Good,” Keith says. “Love is a good thing to mean, Shiro.”

Shiro exhales. He didn’t exactly expect Keith to say it back, but there’s a dull ache in his chest anyway. He wanted Keith to say it back. He really wanted that –

“Oh,” Keith says, a blush rising in his cheeks, “I love you too. I thought that was obvious, but humans can be very oblivious.”

Shiro lets out a disbelieving, helpless little laugh, and Keith’s smile widens. “Yeah,” he agrees, “yeah, you’re not wrong there. Wow. Huh. _Huh.”_

“And for the record,” Keith murmurs, “I didn’t get this,” he pointedly strokes his cock, “to please your perception of me. I got it to please _you._ Because I want to please you, as you have pleased me. Is that okay?”

Shiro’s breath catches. “You wanna fuck me?” Keith raises an eyebrow as if to say, _Duh._ “Yeah. Yes. Okay.”

Keith’s laughing at him with his eyes. “Okay,” he echoes, sitting back on his heels and pushing Shiro’s thighs apart, easy as anything. Shiro bites his lip as Keith just looks, eyes tracing without shame over every inch of him. Keith’s hand slides down to rest on his lower belly, nails just beginning to scratch into coarse hair. “You are very hairy,” he says, which is _not_ what Shiro was expecting, though not...untrue.

Shiro lets out an awkward honk of laughter. “Not _that_ hairy,” he amends. “Hairier than you, I guess?”

Keith shrugs, still looking decidedly not at Shiro’s face. “Mmm. I like it, I think.”

“You think?”

“It’s a hypothesis.” Keith’s eyes flick up, and this time the look in them is wicked. “I should probably test it, hm?” Then he’s folded down between Shiro’s legs, lifting his thighs up with truly inhuman strength, and licking over the swell of Shiro’s balls to his hole. 

Shiro covers his mouth on a muffled squeak, eyes rolling back when Keith just goes for it, licking him open in long, wet swipes of his tongue, pausing to place sloppy kisses around his rim, but never stopping to breathe – _because he doesn’t have to breathe, technically_ – never faltering in his pace. Shiro’s toes curl, and he tries not to kick out and against Keith’s back when Keith pops open the lube he brought with him and adds a finger alongside his thrusting tongue. 

Keith pulls back, though, as if sensing the tension in his limbs, and says, “You won’t hurt me, Shiro. I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

That’s it; that’s all it takes. Shiro surprises both of them when his spine bows and he lets out a choked cry, cock spurting over his belly, some catching Keith in the face when he lowers Shiro’s thighs to watch, unmistakably fascinated. Shiro comes for a while, and when it’s over he’s shuddering, sensitive, a whimper falling from his lips when Keith leans in to rub gently at the messy, twitching tip of his cock. “Sorry,” Shiro pants, staring hard at the ceiling, “that – that’s new.”

“Do you like that I _have_ you, Shiro?” Keith coos, a dangerous note in his sweet, sweet voice. Shiro swallows. “Do you like knowing you can’t break me?” His lips curl. “Or maybe you want me to break you. Is that it?”

Shiro exhales, shaky. “I – I don’t –”

“Hey.” Keith leans down over him, cupping his cheek, gaze roving over his shaking body. “Is this too much? It’s okay, Takashi. It’s okay.”

“I feel like,” Shiro manages, “I should be saying that shit to you.”

Keith tilts his head. “Why, because I’m a traumatized sex robot?” He snorts. “We’ve all got our ghosts, don’t we? But mine aren’t here, right now, with you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Shiro whispers. He closes his eyes, and Keith settles over him, a welcome weight, head pillowed on his chest and cock hard against his belly, but in a strangely comforting rather than demanding sort of way. “I do want you to fuck me,” Shiro clarifies, in case that was lost in translation. Keith giggles at him, but waits for him to continue. “And I do like...being rough. Sometimes. But…”

“I can be gentle, too,” Keith says, soft. “I would like that, Shiro. To treat you tenderly.”

Shiro opens his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispers, barely audible. “Yes.”

“Is that what lovers do?” Keith asks, nuzzling into his jaw and blinking down at him. 

Shiro laughs, a weight lifting from him that he didn’t know was there. _Lovers._ Is that what they are, now? “I mean, lovers can handcuff each other and do nasty shit, too.”

Keith beams. “I would like to do that, too,” he declares, then furrows his brow. “Later.”

“Don’t get distracted,” Shiro teases as Keith makes his way back down Shiro’s body. 

“Impossible,” Keith says. “I have a well-organized task manager and you are almost always near the top of it.”

Shiro opens his mouth, then closes it. “Are you – was that a _pun?_ Are you saying you always want to do me?”

Keith’s devilish smirk says it all. Shiro bursts into laughter, covering his face with his hands, and then laughter fades into moans as Keith finishes what he started, working Shiro open now with deft fingers, using way more lube than he needs to but seeming to enjoy the mess of it. Shiro is still sensitive, but finds he doesn’t mind it, gasping and melting into the bed when Keith finds his prostate again and rubs at it in maddening circles, watching Shiro’s cock stiffen and drip helplessly with dark eyes.

Keith’s worked his way up to three fingers and is trying for a fourth when Shiro finally groans at him to please, please get on with it, and Keith gives him a look that suggests he doesn’t appreciate being told what to do, but thankfully, he takes mercy sooner rather than later. 

When Keith’s cockhead slides over his hole, Shiro moans, then tries to moan again when he’s filled, but no sound comes out. Keith hoists up his thighs to press inside fully, until the warm swell of his balls rests flush against Shiro’s ass and Shiro can do little more than pant at the ceiling, both ashamed and thrilled by how swiftly and entirely Keith has rendered him helpless. Keith leans over him, his cock twitching deep inside, and Shiro shudders, chest rising and falling unevenly, cock hardening again in its own mess.

Keith sees it and smiles, sharp and pleased. “Already?” He clicks his tongue, rubbing Shiro’s hip while his fingers dig into Shiro’s thigh and he draws back, rolling his hips in a beautiful, devastating slide that leaves Shiro groaning for more. Shiro’s legs lock around his smaller body, so that when Keith tries to pull back again, he finds himself caught right where Shiro wants him. Keith snorts. “Needy, aren’t you?”

“Fuck me,” Shiro gasps, “Keith, please, want you to, you feel so – _so good –”_

The smug grin falls right off of Keith’s face, and he nods, hair hanging into his eyes as he grips Shiro’s hips and thrusts again, harder, watching with hungry eyes as Shiro’s back lifts off the bed and his cock bobs into greater hardness over his belly. “Look at you,” Keith breathes, “so good for me, Shiro, so pretty, taking me so well.” He fucks him slow, but not gentle, each thrust hard enough that Shiro shakes with it, chokes on the pleasure of it, arching ever upwards to meet Keith’s thrusts, fingers grasping at the sheets, then at last at the headboard, biceps straining as he uses the leverage to shove back onto Keith’s cock.

The android pauses at this sight, his black of his dilated pupils nearly swallowing up his irises, and he makes a low, breathy sound, swearing when Shiro meets his eye, panting aloud now and soaked in sweat, precum puddling in the lines of his abs as his body ripples under Keith’s lithe frame. Seeing it, Keith growls softly, then surges forward, bending Shiro suddenly nearly in half, hands finding Shiro’s wrists and pinning them with bruising strength against the headboard, so that his nails scratch uselessly at the wood and his noises tumble into incoherency. 

Keith’s cock fucks him open, raw and relentless, Shiro’s hole clenching desperately around it, and Shiro realizes with a whimper that Keith could do this forever, that he isn’t going to come inside of Shiro, isn’t ever going to go soft unless he wants to, which is as much a disappointment as it is overwhelmingly hot. Shiro’s eyes squeeze shut and his body clamps down around Keith’s cock, drawing a startled gasp from the android as Shiro’s cock twitches and leaks, on the verge of coming, but unable to reach the edge a second time without being touched.

“Please,” Shiro gasps, “please, touch me, Keith, _Keith,_ I can’t –”

_“Fuck,”_ is all Keith says, staring down at him with a wildness in his eyes that Shiro adores before suddenly pulling out, leaving Shiro groaning at the loss before he shifts down and sucks Shiro’s cock into his mouth, three fingers thrusting into Shiro’s gaping hole at the same time. Shiro’s vision goes dark at the edges, so unexpected is the sensation of wet heat surrounding his cock, Keith’s throat closing with ease around the already messy, oversensitive tip. 

His lips stretch around the base and his gaze darts up to meet Shiro’s with something like triumph, and that’s it. Shiro can’t stop himself from coming again with a stuttered cry, but this time, Keith’s eyes go wide, and Shiro feels his cock heat and swell, and it _keeps swelling,_ sheathed in Keith’s throat. 

Cum leaks out of the corners of Keith’s mouth in silvery rivulets before he finally pulls off, swallowing the rest like an afterthought and blinking in fascination at Shiro’s dick. It’s still hard, and thicker, but where before there was veined flesh, now there are even ridges beneath it, hardening and plumping up as Keith runs a curious fingertip over them. Shiro’s balls feel heavier, too, and he can’t really see them from this angle, but Keith can, and his eyes are huge. 

Keith wipes his mouth. “Shiro,” he breathes, and his voice is deliciously hoarse. Shiro’s cock twitches, and the ridges – move, sort of. _Flex_ is maybe a better word for it. Keith sees it, and shivers visibly. “Does it – hurt?”

Shiro shakes his head. He’s gonna be sore later, but right now, nothing hurts. Whatever they did to his dick made the transformation painless – it doesn’t hurt like it probably should have, but instead takes the form of insistent, burning arousal, starting low and deep in his gut and spreading to settle heavy where Keith is now touching him hesitantly. Shiro’s hips twitch up, his cock somehow even more sensitive than before, and Keith bites his lip hard. “Keith,” Shiro says, his own voice gravelly and strained, no mistaking the note of need in it, “can I –”

Keith closes his eyes briefly, like he needs a moment. “Yes,” he whispers, eyes still shut, and when they crack open, they’re dark but shining, and he moves back over Shiro’s body with feline grace, his own cock hard and flushed. He doesn’t stop Shiro when he reaches out to touch it with one hand, and with the right one, presses behind it, to find Keith’s cunt drenched, so much so that Shiro swears he must have come again. 

He groans at the discovery, spreading Keith wide, Keith’s thighs tightening astride his hips as Shiro does so. Shiro isn’t really jerking him off, or fingering him open – just loosely holding his cock in his left hand, letting it slide through his fingers, and cupping Keith’s cunt with his right hand, hoping the cold metal feels good against the heated flesh. 

“Are you trying to tease me?” Keith demands, but there’s no bite to it, only breathlessness. “Don’t you want to fuck me, properly this time?”

“Properly,” Shiro repeats, and huffs. “The shower wasn’t good enough for you?”

“For me, yes,” Keith drawls, “oh, yes. But you didn’t come. And I want you to fill me, Takashi. As many times as you want...or can.” It’s a challenge, but it’s also an honest invitation. So, too, is the way Keith suddenly climbs off of him to lay beside him, drawing his legs up and apart and drawing Shiro to him, kissing him soft and sloppy, all tongue and little sounds as Shiro rolls to meet him and their cocks brush together, and then Shiro’s cock slides past Keith’s to nudge at his opening with an insistence that makes them both chuckle even as they shudder at the proximity. 

“You can ride me, if you want,” Shiro offers, for there’s a vulnerable uncertainty on Keith’s face then, spread out under him for the taking, and Shiro doesn’t want to push him into unwanted territory, wants Keith to have as much control as he wants – as he needs, always. 

He tells himself he doesn’t care that Keith has been with too many people to count – and he doesn’t care, insofar as it doesn’t make him want or respect or love Keith any less. But he _does_ care that they hurt Keith – that they ever fucking dared to use him as they wished with no thought to his comfort or pleasure, and discarded him afterwards like a thing, because that was all he ever was in their eyes. It’s a small comfort that some of them got what they deserved. 

Shiro knows that Keith doesn’t want to be pitied, and pity wouldn’t do much good, anyway. But Shiro can and will treat him better – how he’s always deserved to be treated. Not just like a person. Like a person he loves, so much he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

Keith seems to weigh the offer, the implication of it flickering in his eyes, and then he slowly shakes his head. “No, Shiro,” he murmurs. “I want – I want you to do whatever you want to me. Okay?”

Shiro’s first instinct is to protest, to say that Keith should choose, but then Shiro realizes that Keith _is_ choosing – choosing to _let_ Shiro do what Keith never had the choice to say yes to before. 

“Okay,” Shiro says, quietly, and leans down to kiss the corner of his mouth. Keith blinks at him, blush rising in his cheeks when Shiro’s thumb draws across his cheek. “Can you talk to me, though?”

Keith hums. “Talk to you? How?”

“Just so I know you’re here,” Shiro says, his thumb sliding down the sharp angle of Keith’s jaw, the smooth curve of his neck, the lean, scarred planes of his chest. 

“I’m here,” Keith says, his mouth twitching. He pauses, fingers curling around Shiro’s nape. “But – what if I wasn’t?” Shiro blinks at him. Keith’s blush deepens. “When...when I couldn’t do anything except ping you if I needed to, I...I liked that, Shiro.” Shiro’s eyes widen as comprehension dawns on him, and widen further as Keith continues. “I...have created a new mode for myself. It’s like analysis mode, but – more relaxed. Like I am...a doll, I suppose. You would have full control of my functions, Shiro. You could actually do whatever you wanted to me.”

“But you couldn’t stop me,” Shiro breathes, a part of him horrified and another part...decidedly not. 

Keith shakes his head. “I don’t want to stop you.”

Shiro’s hand curves to frame his face, his mouth dry. “You’ve thought about this.”

“So much,” Keith whispers. “I will still be aware, Shiro. I will still feel your touch...and I will still be aroused.”

“You want that,” Shiro says. “And – and how would I get you out of it?”

“Well, I will exit the new mode if my survival is threatened,” Keith says pleasantly.

Shiro gawks at him. “What do you think I’m going to _do?”_ he yelps.

Keith rolls his eyes fondly and pats Shiro’s cheek. “I’m just letting you know the parameters. You can tell me to exit the mode as you would any other, and I will be back, like this.” Keith strokes his face, lips curling into a coy smile. “But...feel free to take your time.”

“I don’t know,” Shiro murmurs, leaning closer, “I think I’ll miss you too much to keep you away for long.”

“It’ll still be me,” Keith assures him. “Just...more obedient me.” Shiro’s breath hitches and Keith’s smile widens. “Well?”

Shiro takes a deep breath. “If – if you’re sure, Keith. I want this to be...good for you.”

“It will be,” Keith says. There’s not a single note of doubt in his voice, and that’s what finally convinces Shiro.

“Okay,” he says, not letting go of Keith, hoping Keith can see in his eyes how much it means to him that Keith is allowing him this – how much Keith means to him.

“Okay,” Keith echoes softly, and closes his eyes. “Enter ‘Trust Mode.’”

Shiro doesn’t know what he expected, but when Keith’s eyes open, they’re completely blank, half-lidded and unfocused. “Hello?” Shiro murmurs, running his fingers down Keith’s jaw, but Keith doesn’t react, except to blink up at him. Shiro swallows heavily, his fingers resting on Keith’s lower lip. Neither of them says a word as slowly, Shiro eases Keith’s parted lips open, until two fingers rest gently on Keith’s wet tongue. Shiro’s fingers curl, and still, Keith doesn’t react. Shiro hesitates and then says, quietly, “Suck.”

Keith’s response is immediate; his lips close around Shiro’s fingers in a tight seal as his tongue and mouth work, suckling on Shiro’s fingers, not breaking his distant gaze. Shiro pushes his fingers a little deeper, up to the knuckles, just to see what Keith will do – and he doesn’t falter, just sucks obediently as before.

His lack of an expression is a bit eerie, though, so Shiro tries something else, trying not to sound too much like a cheesy hypnotist as he does so. “It feels good when I touch you,” he murmurs, braced over Keith, “so good, and every sweet little reaction you want to have when I touch you, you can have, okay, sweetheart?”

In reply, Keith’s brow knits, and there, _yes,_ he moans around Shiro’s fingers, eyes fluttering shut and spine arching ever so slightly off the bed, his cock plump and twitching under Shiro’s approving gaze, and below it, the faint and needy glisten of his cunt. Shiro shudders, his own cock reminding him of its need with an impossibly insistent throb, its heaviness more pronounced than before, dragging over Keith’s hip as Shiro presses a little closer. 

His first thought is to tug his fingers from Keith’s mouth and back between his thighs to open him up again, but then he falters, groaning at the realization that all he has to do is tell Keith to be ready for him. His voice is rough when he says it. 

“So good for me,” he whispers, his fingers trailing Keith’s spit down his chin, then down his neck. Keith breathes in shaky little gasps beneath him, eyes wide and pupils dilated, but seems otherwise immobilized. “Do you know what you want? You want to be fucked. So – so badly. You’re so ready for it, baby. You can take all of me, right now, just tight enough for you to feel it, for it to burn when I leave you – in the best way.” Keith begins to tremble under him, a red flush spreading up his body as he responds to the commands. Shiro backs off, admiring the sight, taking his cock in hand if only to ease the unbearable need a little. “Show me,” Shiro orders. “Spread your legs, put yourself on display for me.”

The words feel as dirty as they do delicious in his mouth, and Shiro forgets any shame he might have had when Keith shamelessly, instantly spreads his legs wide, practically straddling the bed, and draws them up, spreading his ass, spreading the folds of his cunt until Shiro can see his wet, waiting hole. It’s so wet that Keith’s dripping, and it’s going to stain the sheets and Shiro doesn’t care. He starts to shift forward, towards where Keith needs him, but then he stops, another filthy thought lodging in his mind.

He looks at Keith’s prone body and orders, “Come for me, right now, untouched.”

He almost doesn’t expect it to work – but _oh,_ how it does. 

Keith’s mouth falls open, and his cunt gapes in a sudden pulse, clenching and fluttering around nothing, slickness dribbling out along plumped up lips and his cock twitching visibly as his cunt spills. His toes curl and his skin flushes and his inner thighs are drenched in sweat and wetness by the time it’s over, or rather, by the time Shiro runs out of patience and lifts Keith’s legs to kneel between them and finally, finally fuck into him. 

When he does so, Keith’s eyes roll back, and his body, so easily manipulated by Shiro’s wandering hands, trembles and shakes as Shiro starts to move, thrusting into him up to the hilt, up to the swelling base of his cock. In between thrusts, Shiro manages to groan, “Come around my cock until you can’t anymore,” and Keith lets out a long, frantic whine before he’s tensing around Shiro’s cock, his cunt clamping down, dragging Shiro deeper, rippling around the ridged edges of his cock. The pressure is constant, and it’s what Shiro asked for, but it’s still unexpected in its intensity. Shiro grits his teeth to stop himself from coming, even as the helpless ecstasy on Keith’s face drives him closer and closer to that coveted edge. 

Shiro pulls out for a second to brace himself, and Keith keens at the absence, a sound so needy that Shiro almost comes right then and there. He rolls Keith over, onto his belly, and the android splays out beneath him, completely vulnerable and completely for Shiro. 

The sight makes Shiro lean closer, consumed by the overwhelming need to cover Keith with his body, rutting his cock between Keith’s messy thighs, cockhead glancing over his sweet cunt again and again. Shiro drags kisses and sharp nips over his neck and shoulders, smoothing his hands down Keith’s sides, gripping his hips and kneading his plump ass and at last dragging Keith’s ass back to meet his cock, sinking fully within him with a sigh that Keith echoes. 

Keith has not been treated kindly in his life, and maybe Shiro can’t quite remember how to be the kind of kind that Keith needs, but he can try, for Keith. He would do anything for Keith. Anything. Shiro tells him this, and Keith’s lips part, and he doesn’t say a word, but he comes again around Shiro’s cock, or maybe he never stopped. When Shiro tells him to, he pushes his ass back, fucking himself on Shiro’s cock in perfect tandem with Shiro’s rolling hips, taking each thrust beautifully. 

Shiro marvels at how wide Keith is stretched around him, and when he tells Keith that no one has ever taken him as well as Keith does, he gets another shuddering orgasm for his troubles. He takes Keith’s cock in hand and strokes, and rubs his thumb over the twitching head, and Keith shakes, tightens, comes all over again. Shiro imagines doing this forever. It's at that moment that his own body gives him a reality check as Keith’s cunt milks his cock and he feels his balls draw up and empty, so utterly full in a way he can’t remember them ever being before. 

“Come with me,” Shiro gasps, braced over Keith’s arching, shaking body as he pumps his cock into Keith’s tight hole, his greedy cunt which floods with Shiro’s hot cum so deliciously it makes them both moan loud and unabashed. Keith kicks out with soft little cries under him and Shiro pins him to the bed, fucking him hard as he comes, because like this, his cock takes a long time before it even begins to soften, and the insistent squeeze of Keith’s cunt around its throbbing girth prolongs his climax even more. 

Keith’s lean, flat stomach isn’t flat anymore when Shiro’s hand cups it, worshipful, rubbing over the slight bulge where he fills Keith so entirely. “Is that good?” Shiro pants, letting himself fall until he’s half-crushing Keith to the bed, knowing he’s strong enough to take the weight. “Tell me, baby, tell me if it’s good.”

“It’s good,” Keith gasps, ragged and ruined and the sound of his voice makes Shiro moan, burying his face in Keith’s shoulder as the ridges along his cock all swell and expand at once, locking it inside of Keith’s cunt, fully sheathed. Keith whimpers, pressing his forehead to the pillows and whispering, _“good, good, good,”_ like a broken record – but Shiro knows there’s nothing, absolutely nothing broken about him.

Shiro closes his eyes and nuzzles into Keith’s neck. Keith is still shuddering and tightening around him in endless climax, the sensation beginning to tip over into too much as Shiro’s cock starts to soften, and only slumps into stillness when Shiro strokes his hip and whispers, “That’s enough, sweetheart, you can relax now, I’ve got you.” 

He lays like that with Keith for a while longer, until his cock softens enough to slip free. Instead of pulling out right away, though, Shiro brushes his lips over Keith’s ear and murmurs, “Exit Trust Mode.”

Keith jolts, tightening briefly around him as he comes to, and when he lifts his head to look lazily over his shoulder at Shiro, his indigo eyes are clear again, and his lips are curved in a self-satisfied smirk. “Hi,” he says, and fumbles to grab Shiro’s hand, squeezing once. 

“Hi,” Shiro echoes, sure his face must be bright red. “How, uh – how was that –”

“Did you forget this was supposed to be about you?” Keith laughs, rolling his eyes and rolling them over, so that Shiro is flat on his back and Keith’s straddling his softening dick, lifting up just enough for it to slip free of his stretched, sloppy cunt with an obscene flood of cum following it, dripping down his inner thighs and Shiro’s cock. Keith hums and pillows his chin on his forearms, braced over Shiro’s chest, grinding his ass back over Shiro’s messy cock until he whines. “Besides...I said it was good, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Shiro admits, and cups his cheek. “But – just had to make sure.”

Keith leans down and kisses him, long and sweet and lingering. “It was good,” he whispers as he pulls away, a strand of spit connecting their lips. It’s filthy and soft all at once. That’s how Keith makes him feel.

“Good,” Shiro breathes, petting his hip, letting his hands wander back between Keith’s thighs. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“Courtesy of Galra Inc,” Keith replies without missing a beat. 

Shiro wrinkles his nose. “Fuck Galra Inc.”

“I think you just did,” Keith laughs, and pats him when Shiro splutters. “How would you rate your experience today?”

Shiro eyes him, struggling to keep a straight face. “Do I have to fill out a survey?”

“You could do that,” Keith murmurs, “or you could snuggle with me and we’ll call it even.”

“Keith, we’re literally sticking together,” Shiro says. “I don’t know how long I can snuggle with you before physically needing to take another shower.”

Keith shrugs. “Sticky is nice,” he says. “I like it. It’s warm. It almost feels like you're still filling me.”

Shiro bites his lip. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Keith huffs, eyeing him knowingly, and snuggling back down over him. He’s quiet save for a soft hum as Shiro rubs his back, a sound Shiro is tempted to call a purr. “It was really good, Shiro,” Keith mumbles into his chest. “But I knew it would be, with you.”

“All this time…?”

“Yeah,” Keith whispers. “I think...these feelings I have for you, they’re strange. But they’re real, Shiro. I know they’re real.”

“I don't doubt it,” Shiro promises, and he means it.

Keith closes his eyes. “I have been thinking about what you said. About whether or not these killings, this revenge, makes me feel better. And I don’t think they do, Shiro. Yes, those men deserve to die, but I don’t want to be the one who has to kill them all. I don’t want to be the rogue killer robot they think I am, the scorned machine who knows only death and destruction. I don’t want to keep repeating that night at Club Daibazaal again and again. I want a future, Shiro. With you. And Kosmo. And...maybe a little black kitten named Kuro.” Keith's eyes flicker open, and when they meet Shiro's, they gleam with a light that has nothing to do with Keith's optics, and everything to do with the hope that wavers bright and unmistakable in his soft voice.

“I want that too, Keith,” Shiro whispers. “And you – you deserve that. To have a future. To have something more than revenge. And, hey, who knows...there are lots of other ways to fuck over Galra Inc that don’t involve murder.” He allows himself a grin. "And, you know...we are twenty grand richer, now."

“We are,” Keith agrees, his lips curling. “I wonder if Allura could help us with it, too…she helped me, you know. She got your call, and she found me in the Linkings last night. She stayed with me. She’s a good friend, Shiro, and...I’m so glad she saved you all those years ago.”

“Me too,” Shiro whispers. 

“I love you,” Keith says, slowly, like he’s trying the words out on his tongue, one by one, measuring their weight and their worth and their meaning. “I don’t have any protocol for this, but I love you, Takashi Shirogane. I think – that’s my new directive. It’s mine. I chose it. And it’s a good one. You’re a good one. Nobody had to program me to know that.”

Shiro holds him tighter, and he doesn’t let go.


End file.
